


Glimpses

by LilyIsAwesomerThanYou



Series: Glimpses [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adoption, Child Abuse, Father-Son Relationship, No Slash, Severitus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-01 05:58:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 27,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12150108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyIsAwesomerThanYou/pseuds/LilyIsAwesomerThanYou
Summary: When Harry is taken from the Dursleys by Child Protective Services, Snape is sent to adopt him. Mentions of abuse, but no details. No slash.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on FF.net  
> I don't own Harry Potter.

Glimpses – Chapter 1

Ten-year-old Harry Potter was woken abruptly from his dream of flying motorcycles and half-giants by a loud banging on the door to his cupboard. His usual loving wake-up call of "Get up! Get up!" came harshly through the small grate on the door, his aunt's horse-like face partially visible through the slits. Harry shook off the headache that was always threatening to make itself known and fell out of bed. Groping for his glasses and shoving them on his face, he stumbled after Aunt Petunia's screeching.

"—breakfast made within ten minutes—your other chores better be done too—can't believe we even let you live in this house—sleeping until near noon!"

"Aunt Petunia, it's only six," Harry muttered softly in protest.

"Don't talk back to me, boy!" she screeched again, hitting him around the head. "And why can't I smell bacon?!"

Harry ignored the cuff and ran to the stove. He had had worse – _much_ worse.

By the time Harry and Dudley were on the way to school, all of Dudley's friends had joined in. Harry knew all about their 'Harry hunting' and ran ahead safely to his fifth grade classroom. Dudley, thankfully, had another teacher, so he could be avoided most of the day.

As Harry sat in class, his headache was back full force. He knew his aunt and uncle would _kill_ him if he skipped school for any reason, especially something that had come at their hand, so he waited for it to go away, wondering if he could sneak some aspirin from the medicine cupboard when he got home.

"Harry? Are you all right, dear?"

Harry looked up dazedly to see his teacher, Mrs. Meath looking down at him in concern. "Yes, ma'am. Just not paying attention for a moment."

She smiled and handed him his spelling test. Harry hesitantly reached out and took it. As he looked down at it, he realized he knew most of the words even though he hadn't studied. Aunt Petunia's orders, of course. Heaven forbid he do better than Dudley at anything. And since Dudley got nearly every question wrong, so did Harry.

At the end of the test, Harry reviewed his answers, much like any other normal student would. But while normal students checked for mistakes, Harry was checking for words he had spelled right. Mrs. Meath smiled brightly at him as he turned in his test.

When Mrs. Meath dismissed the class for the day, she called Harry over to her desk.

"Yes, Mrs. Meath?" he answered respectfully, weaving between desks on his way to her larger one sitting in the corner of the room. He stopped a foot away from the front of her desk, just out of reach of her arms like he had been taught – or rather, like he had learned.

"Ah. Harry. How do you spell 'glimpses'? You missed it on your test." She gave him a searching look.

"G-l-i-m-p-s-e-s." Harry spoke quickly, looking at the floor.

"Just as I thought. You left out of the first 's' on your test, darling," she informed him, making a mark on a paper that, at closer observation, appeared to be Harry's spelling test. "You need to study more."

Harry nodded unconvincingly.

"Really, Harry. If you don't shape up, I'm going to have to talk to your parents." Reprimanding.

"Not my parents," the boy whispered.

"That's where it's going, dear," she continued, seeming concerned.

"No. They're _not_ my parents. They're my aunt and uncle," Harry corrected, almost angry at the mix-up. He didn't want to be known as their child. They didn't treat him as their child. "My parents are dead." The words seemed to make it more final than it ever had been.

Mrs. Meath stopped. " _Oh._ I'm so sorry, Harry," she soothed, pulling the boy into a hug. She pushed him away slightly, holding him at arm's length, one soft hand on each shoulder. "I'm going to mark that right on your test, dear. You showed me you know the material, at least a little bit."

" _No!_ " The words came out of Harry's mouth in a near-shout. "I got it wrong! You _have_ to mark it wrong! What if Dudley does badly on it?!" The last question nearly hysterically. His shrieks caused the teacher to pull him closer once again. Harry idly wondered when she had moved around the desk without him noticing.

"What?" Softly. "Harry, darling, _what_ happens if you do better than Dudley on the test?"

The brunette shook his head violently, nearly dislodging his glasses from safely behind his ears. The teacher tried again, slightly suspicious this time.

"Would you mind telling me what this bruise is from?" she asked, brushing a thumb lightly across his cheek, where Aunt Petunia's cuff had begun to bruise nastily.

He pleaded with her with his big emerald eyes, seemingly magnified through his round spectacles. "No, please," he whispered. "You'll make it worse."

"What worse?" Her suspicion was clear on her face now. What was going on in this poor boy's home? When Harry shook his head frantically again, Mrs. Meath sighed. "Alright then, Harry," she conceded, letting him go. "Are you ready to go home, then? I'll walk you down to the sidewalk."

When Harry nodded reluctantly, she let him pick up his schoolbag before walking him out the door. When they reached the sidewalk, she turned toward him again.

"Harry. . ." The boy looked up at her curiously in response to his name. "It's nothing. Go home, dear."

She watched as her student scampered off down the street, turning the corner at a sharp angle. And as she walked slowly back up down to her classroom, she pulled out her mobile, already dialing the phone number.


	2. Chapter 2

Glimpses – Chapter 2

Two mornings later, Child Protective Services showed up. Harry, who had been locked in his cupboard without meals for letting something slip to a teacher, peered through the grate in interest. The two uniform-clad men looked very professional, and after hearing his name, Harry strained his ears with fascination to hear their conversation.

Uncle Vernon boomed in response, and Harry could tell just from his tone of voice and the stiff manner in which he held himself that the man was absolutely livid. "Harry? _Abused?!_ Codswallop!" He turned to yell into the kitchen. "Petunia! Are you hearing this? They think we abuse Harry! Bring the boy out, won't you?" He turned back to the agents. "I can't believe this. The boy is absolutely spoiled!"

Harry, about to burst out of his cupboard before realizing that it was definitely _locked,_ watched in indignation as Aunt Petunia paraded an ice cream-eating Dudley toward the agents. She had clearly been tipped off by the tone of Vernon's voice.

"You're not abused at all, are you, D – Harry?" Aunt Petunia sang, her voice dripping with false sweetness. She planted a sloppy kiss on his sticky cheek.

Dudley snorted rudely. "Abused? I get all the ice cream I want!" Dudley shouted at the officers, shaking his spoon in the air. Then he narrowed his eyes. "Why'd you call m– ?" His thickly-muttered question was abruptly cut off as Aunt Petunia promptly steered him out of the room before he could say anything else.

Uncle Vernon turned from his wife and son, pausing to throw a discreet glare towards the cupboard under the stairs. He looked back at the men still standing on his doorstep.

"See? D – Harry's not abused at all! He's quite happy with his ice cream," Uncle Vernon prattled, waving an airy hand toward the door through which Dudley and Aunt Petunia had disappeared and were now talking quietly.

"I noticed," one of the men snapped, disgust clearly written on his face. "Although _that—_ "

The other agent cut him off quickly. "Well, seeing as Harry seems to be perfectly _fine,_ we'll be leaving now. But if we hear another report, it won't be good for you…"

"Yes, yes, fine," Uncle Vernon agreed impatiently, already starting to close the door.

" _Wait!_ " Harry shouted, almost without meaning to. " _He's not Harry! I am!_ "

An arm shot through the door immediately, keeping it from closing. The man hissed in pain as Uncle Vernon closed it harder, but refused to budge, muttering threats through the door. When Vernon finally let him through the door, the man rubbed his arm and glared, biting back curses. The other agent turned toward the direction Harry's voice had come from.

"Harry?" he called tentatively, taking a small step inside the house and ignoring Uncle Vernon's bellows of _'YOU ARE NOT WELCOME IN THIS HOUSEHOLD! HOW DARE YOU STEP FOOT IN HERE WITHOUT MY PERMISSION! I WANT A WARRANT!'_ The officer pulled a folded piece of paper out of his jacket and held it toward Uncle Vernon. "There."

"In here!" Harry said, his voice growing small. "I'm in the cupboard."

The first agent's head snapped up at the words, and he immediately stopped rubbing his arm. As disdain rose within him, he went and tried to pull open the door, but it wouldn't move.

"Why won't it open?" he hissed, his voice cold and harsh as death itself. Uncle Vernon seemed to have lost both his voice and his anger; he had paled and his eyes had grown wide as saucers. Harry would have found it funny if he wasn't so scared.

"It's locked," Harry informed quietly, keeping his eyes on Uncle Vernon through the slits distrustfully. "You have to slide the bolt."

The second agent held out his hand and slid the thin metal bar, the bolt making a loud grating sound as it unlocked. As he pulled open the small door, Harry jumped back, huddling on the far corner of his mattress. A figurine toppled off one of the shelves behind Harry and landed at his feet. He ignored it, scarcely sparing it a glance. The man gasped at the small space beneath the stairs—at the mattress that had been jammed inside, at the short shelves sparsely filled with small toys and figurines, at the messy ' _Harry's Room_ ' that had been scrawled on the inside of the door with a crayon. The undersides of the shelves showed crude drawings of cars and motorcycles, of a half-giant and a normal couple labeled ' _my parents_ '. One entire shelf underside had been colored green.

"What are these?" the second agent asked interestedly, clearly more calm than the first.

"Things I dream about," Harry whispered, his voice shaking slightly in his fear. "Most of them are nightmares. Like this one," (he pointed to the green scribbles) "I keep dreaming about green light."

"Ah, I see," the agent replied, peering more closely at Harry's scribbles. He glanced back at the other agent before carefully extracting himself from the pitifully small cupboard. "Calm down, Leatherby."

"Speak for yourself, Edwards," the seething agent retorted, standing up again. He turned toward Vernon as Edwards began the tedious task of getting Harry to come out. "And Mr. Dursley, I assure you this is more than enough evidence to take Mr. Potter from your home."

Edwards stood up, Harry hiding from Vernon behind his legs.

"You can't do that! He isn't abused! He chooses to be there!"

Edwards spoke angrily: "Mr. Dursley, even if Mr. Potter _did_ choose to be in his cupboard, I assure you that he would not enjoy being locked in from the outside." He glanced back at Harry, who nodded in affirmation. "And clearly, the boy is hiding from you, which is showing me there could be more abuse against the boy in this household than just we've seen during this visit today."

"You can't take him!" Vernon yelled again, his mustache quivering. "He. . . He. . ."

"What are you going to have to do without him, Mr. Dursley? Find someone else to fry your bacon?" Leatherby cut in angrily. "I can smell it on his clothes."

As Vernon blubbered incoherently, the two men led Harry out the door and into a black SUV. As they drove away, Leatherby glared angrily out the window. Harry stuck his head between them in the front seat, his emerald eyes fearful.

"Where are we going?" he asked quietly.

Edwards answered him softly, reassuring him while casting annoyed glances towards Leatherby, who was still sitting in sullen silence. "Don't worry, Harry. You'll never have to go back to your relatives. Ever."


	3. Chapter 3

Glimpses – Chapter 3

Severus Snape raised his head from its precarious position above his cauldron as his wards alerted him of someone trying to contact him by Floo. He wiped his hands quickly before walking out of his personal lab at Hogwarts.

"Severus!" The older man's voice rang through Snape's quarters.

_The one and only,_ Severus thought sarcastically as he came around the corner to see none other than Albus Dumbledore's head, long white beard and all, protruding from his fireplace. Annoyed, he wondered why the Headmaster would bother him. It must be about one of his Slytherins.

"Headmaster, to what do I owe the _pleasure?_ " He hadn't meant for the last part to come out rudely. Honest.

"Severus," the old man chided. "I need your help for the most urgent of matters. Meet me in my office."

Snape stabilized the potion in his lab before stepping out into the cold hallways of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The Headmaster should have known better than to disrupt Severus during his time reserved for brewing. Then again, that almost secured the nagging voice in the back of his brain that told him that this matter must really be important. _To the Headmaster, at least,_ Snape scoffed.

He strolled confidently past the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office to find Minerva already seated in one of the plush armchairs directly across from the Headmaster's desk.

"Minerva," he greeted flatly as he walked toward the window and looked out idly before turning back toward the two worried-looking adults. "Headmaster, what is it?" Interest colored his tone.

"Harry Potter has been –" Albus began, but he was quickly cut off by the Transfiguration professor across from him.

"Mr. Potter is no longer staying with his relatives." Minerva looked at him sternly, observing Snape's reactions with casual corncern.

"What?" Snape snapped. "Why? Headmaster, you know full well that Mr. Potter must stay with his relatives to ensure that the blood wards continue to protect him and the house. Surely you haven't forgotten? Or was one too many cats running down the street too much for your Golden Boy?" He sneered pointedly at McGonagall.

"I haven't been there at all, Severus," Minerva corrected. "Arabella Figg, who has been discreetly watching over him the past nine years, has informed us that Mr. Potter was taken away to an orphanage yesterday."

"For what reason? That is absurd! Headmaster!" He turned on Albus. "You yourself said that the safest place for him would be with his relatives!"

"Severus." Snape calmed down momentarily, nearly seething internally at the effect the Headmaster had over him.

"What? What am I expected to do next?" Snape's voice came out a tad more exasperated than he had planned. "Take the boy back to his relatives? Surely if the government took him away, it was for a good reason?"

"I'm sure it was, unless the Dursleys sent him away themselves," Albus reminded him. "I need to find out the reason behind his removal from Privet Drive. And then I need you to adopt him."

"Adopt him? _Adopt him?!_ " Snape screeched, his eyes nearly bulging from his head. "Do I look like a father to you? Of the Potter boy, no less? His father is my sworn enemy, has been since I was eleven years old! And you expect me to take in his son like. . . like. . ." He trailed off. "You're off your rocker, Albus. I've been telling you for years."

"Severus, you're the best choice for him. You're young – you can keep up with him, and you can focus your attention on him like a young boy needs. Next year, he'll be starting at Hogwarts and won't even be living with you. It's really just for a year, Severus."

"I can't handle a year with the Potter brat, Headmaster! My attention is focused solely on my projects. He'll get into things. He'll get injured. He'll mess up my progress."

"Don't speak of people before you know them, Severus." His tone was sharp as he held up a hand to stop Snape's interjection. "And I trust you'll be able to keep him from injuring himself in your personal lab area. He's ten, more than capable of keeping himself from getting injured beyond reason." The Headmaster waved a hand to emphasize his reasoning.

"He must've done _something_ to get himself kicked out of his relatives' house, Albus!" Snape protested angrily.

Dumbledore fixed him with a firm look, blue eyes piercing Snape's black ones. "I'll expect you to return with Mr. Potter and information on what has happened tomorrow, Severus."

Snape, already walking out the door in his fury, made a noise that might have passed off as reluctant assent.


	4. Chapter 4

Glimpses – Chapter 4

Snape stalked angrily into the orphanage where the Potter brat was held. He just wanted to get this over with. Dumbledore had insisted that he was the best person to take the boy in, and Snape had no choice but to obey. But this was wrong on so many levels. Firstly, Snape was _not_ a father. Anyone could look at him and see that. Secondly, he would not take James Potter – _James bloody Potter's son_ in for _charity._ Or protection. Whatever. This was the Boy-Who-Lived, and of course nothing could ever happen to Dumbledore's precious little savior, the nonnegotiable Chosen One of the prophecy Snape had heard so many years ago and been forever damned because of it.

The word 'angry' would be an understatement for the way the Dursleys had acted upon Snape's arrival on their doorstep. He had pushed and prodded, had tried his fair attempt at wheedling, and finally just given up and threatened them, but they had refused to let loose a single thing. The only thing Snape had managed to gather (from the neighbors, mind you) was that two uniformed men had shown up outside the Dursleys' door on Saturday afternoon and after a brief bout of shouting from Vernon, the boy had been escorted out to a black SUV and hadn't been seen since. From their nonchalant attitude, Snape figured they really couldn't care less about the boy's disappearance. Clearly Potter must have been pampered like a prince, arrogant beyond belief, so much so that even the neighbors disliked him to the point that they were really quite enjoying the fact that he had mysteriously disappeared with two unidentified men.

So when Snape fixed the corners of his mouth up to mimic a smile and walked through the heavy door of the orphanage, he was shocked to see a ten-year-old boy looking no older than seven. It was clearly Potter. From the unruly dark hair to the sharp nose and even to the bloody circular-framed glasses, it was James Potter's son through and through. But the lanky figure of James was hidden by hollowed cheeks and painfully visible ribs. Snape couldn't help but shiver at the sight. But his eyes. Oh Merlin, the boy's eyes. Snape couldn't prevent the stab of pain that shot through him when he looked into _Lily's_ eyes like he had so many times. So many times before he had gone off and done a damn good job of tearing up their friendship and ultimately getting her killed.

Snape shook off the thought, talking with the pretty blonde who helped care for the children about his intentions to see the young Harry Potter. She had protested, saying that it wasn't standard procedure for him to see the child without the necessary paperwork. But a well-placed Confundus Charm caused her eyes to cloud over in confusion. "Yes, sir. Of course I'll fetch him."

Snape's lips quirked up in a real smile at the thought of him dragging some blond-haired, blue-eyed Muggle child back to Dumbledore instead of Potter simply because the old wizard was being such a pain. But no, he would adopt Potter. He hated that word, hissed it through clenched teeth: _adopt._

Before she went back to collect Potter from where he had dashed off to, Snape stopped her, asking her what he had been through. Why he had been sent to the orphanage.

"I'll give you a quick briefing. Standard procedure for all abuse cases, you know."

Snape choked on the water he had poured for himself from the water dispenser in the corner of the room. " _Abused?_ "

She nodded sadly. "Poor boy. I can only imagine what he's been through. From the scars –" (Snape choked again) "—I'd say quite a bit. He's delicate, Mr. Snape, and he needs to be cared for properly. When he does something wrong, you need to be gentle. He's going to be expecting a belt or God knows what else. We had a bit of trouble with him this morning, you see. They drove him like a _slave._ " After a moment of painful silence, she continued, either oblivious or more than sympathetic with Snape's absolutely horrified expression. "I guess if you need chores done, there won't be any trouble getting him to do them." A dark, humorless laugh escaped from her mouth, and she met Snape's eyes hesitantly. He wasn't surprised to see the pain there. "If you like, I can have you meet the agents who removed him from his previous _home._ " Her sneer reminded Snape of his own. "I'm not sure how much they witnessed, but it was enough to bring him here."

Snape considered this option carefully, studying the eyes of the pained woman in front of him. "I suppose that can be arranged." She nodded, the corner of her mouth jerking up at the mixed anger and disbelief on the man's face.

"I know you'll provide him with a great home, sir. Harry!" she called. The pale, sickly boy came running up to her. Neither adult missed the slight trepidation in his face. "I want you to meet your new guardian, Mr. Severus Snape." She gestured in Snape's direction.

Harry looked up with wide, fearful eyes. _Lily's eyes,_ Severus was reminded with a pang. The pain he saw in those depths hurt more than it should have.

"Mr. S-Snape?" the boy stuttered, standing stock still for a moment, staring. Then he stretched out a tentative hand. "I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

Severus shook the boy's hand firmly, slightly amused. "Nice to meet you, Harry Potter." The words came out before Snape could stop them. He began pushing the boy towards the door, pointing his wand discreetly at the woman and whispering, " _Obliviate._ "

Snape felt a small annoyance at their use of the Muggle underground, but after hearing just the guessable facts of Harry's abusive relationship with his relatives, he was more than willing to sacrifice a few more hours of time to make the boy more comfortable.

Two hours of bumps and jolts later, Severus stood, surprised he could even move when his back ached so badly. Potter had fallen asleep once he had gotten used to the unfamiliar sensations of the Tube, and Snape found himself painfully lifting the young boy and hobbling through the gates of Hogwarts. He had never been so glad to be back at the castle.

When he finally made it to his quarter, Snape carefully tucked the boy into the only bed in the living area. He stretched again and interestedly observed the boy's breathing pattern. It seemed almost irregular. Snape shook it off and returned to the sitting room, where he downed a few potions from his stores before setting onto the couch and reading himself to sleep.

It was going to be a long year.


	5. Chapter 5

Glimpses – Chapter 5

Harry felt the telltale signs of nausea upon his awakening. He was just aware enough to notice that he was not in his cupboard and so he went to find the bathroom. He couldn't.

Where were the stairs? If he didn't get to the toilet now, he was going to be in huge trouble with Aunt Petunia when she awoke to find his sick all over the floor. He sobbed quietly in his distress.

Unable to hold back any longer, Harry doubled over, emptying his stomach onto the cold stone floor. It was a shame, really, seeing as his dinner was the best he had eaten in a long while.

Too dizzy to move, he curled up in a ball on the floor and drifted back into a fitful sleep.

oOoOo

Snape awoke and immediately heard the boy whimpering. And not from the bedroom, either. He hesitantly peeked around the couch, where a very pale looking Harry Potter was curled tightly into a ball on the stone floor. As his eyes took in the vomit next to him, Snape groaned.

_Merlin's beard, Albus. I did not sign up for this._

He pulled out his wand and vanished the sick before inching closer to the child. He cleared his throat loudly.

"Mr. Potter," he boomed. The boy jumped to his feet with a cry of shock, then wobbled dangerously, moaning slightly. _Good going, Snape. Some guardian you'll make._ He reached out a hand to steady the boy, leading him back to the bedroom. When Potter's knees gave out, Snape heaved a sigh and stooped to pull the boy into his arms. He cleared his throat again. "Mr. Potter, when you are sick, I expect you to stay in bed. I also expect you to find the bathroom, not my floor."

"Sorry, Uncle Vernon," the boy whimpered. Snape looked down sharply and sighed. This was going to be a long day.

After depositing the boy in the bed and informing him where the toilet was, Snape left to dress and shower. He had no idea how to care for the child, especially while sick. He fetched a few potions from his stores before walking back into the bedroom. Potter had been sick again, all over the duvet. Typical. Snape grimaced and vanished the sick again.

He reached out a hesitant hand and shook the boy's shoulder. "Mr. Potter, I need you to take these."

The boy's eyes opened. They were unfocused and delirious with fever. Snape uncorked the fever reducer and held the cool vial to the boy's lips.

" _No!_ " Potter shouted when the vial touched his lips. He shoved the arm away fiercely, and Snape had to fumble not to drop the potion all over the floor. "No, Uncle! You can't give me anything! I won't take it!"

_What the bloody hell?_

"Mr. Potter, I am not your uncle and quite frankly, I am rather offended that you see me as such."

"You're lying!" the boy snapped, whipping his head away and mashing his lips together.

"And why is that?" Snape requested icily, tapping his foot against the stone floor. He really didn't have time for this.

"No one cares if I'm sick! No one comes! Now get away! Just punish me now and send me back to the cupboard." Potter's voice was frantic. Snape stopped tapping his foot in shock. Punish? Cupboard? Surely the Muggles didn't punish him for being sick?

When Snape spoke again, his voice was slightly softer. "Well, I am different. Now, Mr. Potter, I do expect you to take this. It will help you recover faster."

Potter looked at him distrustfully, blinking hard in an attempt to focus on his face. Snape knew that wasn't going to work – the boy didn't even have his glasses on. "What is it?"

"It's a fever reducer. Now, swallow the damn—" He coughed harshly to cover up his slip. "Now _please_ take this, Mr. Potter."

Potter hesitantly opened his mouth, and Snape held the vial to his lips again, prepared for another sudden outburst. But the boy did not protest when the dark liquid was poured down his throat.

"And this is Dreamless Sleep. True to its name, it will make you sleep without dreams. Or hallucinations, for that matter," he added as an afterthought. Potter took the aquamarine liquid quickly, grimacing lightly at the taste. Snape smirked and left the boy to sleep. He really couldn't deal with a sick ten-year-old. What had he been thinking agreeing to take in this child? He set a quick charm over Potter to alert Snape when he woke.

It was more than four hours later when his magic alerted him that Potter was awake. Snape pulled his nose out of the large book he had open on his lap and sighed, before marking his page and setting it on the coffee table in front of him.

"Tinky," he rumbled, and the aforementioned house elf appeared before him with a pop. He leaned back into the couch.

"Yes, Master Potions Master?" the elf squeaked, clutching her overlarge ears nervously with two tiny hands.

"I need you to bring me a bowl of soup and some water."

The elf left and returned quickly, this time laden with a heavy tray. Snape took it from her and stood before walking toward the bedroom in which Potter slept, ignoring the pop behind him that signaled Tinky's Disapparation.

"Mr. Potter," Snape addressed as he pushed the door open with his shoulder. He stood inside the doorframe, watching as the boy looked at him with surprise, his glasses slightly crooked on his pale face. Snape winced as he ground out, "Are you feeling any better?"

"Uncle Vernon?" Potter began uncertainly. Snape moved forward so the boy could see him better, muttering a quick 'lux'* at the lamp in the corner. It lit brilliantly and Snape quickly dimmed it to a manageable level for the boy.

"Honestly, Potter, do I look nearly as large as that oaf?" Snape growled, surprised at the look of relief that came over the boy's face when Snape's features fell into the dim light.

"No, sir," he snickered quietly.

"I'll take that as yes, you're feeling better. Now, eat this," Snape snapped, shoving the bowl of soup onto the boy's lap. Potter looked up at him in surprise. "It's not poisoned, child. Eat!" The boy raised a shaky hand towards the spoon and lifted a small amount to his mouth. His shaking caused the entirety of its contents to spill down his shirt by the time it reached his chapped lips. Snape silently arched an eyebrow and watched Potter try again, only to end up with the same results.

_Oh, Merlin, I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this._

The Potions Master reached forward with a growl and snatched the bowl up, vanishing the soup from the shirt and bedspread. He roughly gathered a spoonful and pressed the warm metal to Potter's lips, nodding in grim approval when the boy opened his mouth and swallowed obediently.

_I'm feeding a Potter. I'm hand-feeding James Potter's son._

He lifted spoonful after spoonful to the boy's mouth, leaning back in undisguised relief when the bowl was empty. He vanished the bowl and stood up, deftly catching the cup of water before it slid off the tray in his lap. He pressed it to the boy's mouth.

"Drink," Snape commanded. This time Potter obeyed without protest, gulping down nearly the entire contents of the glass. Once the glass was vanished as well, Snape turned to leave.

"Sir, please." The boy's soft, pleading voice reached his ears and he turned, surprised to find the boy looking up at him hopefully. Lily's eyes stared out of the face, dark circles under them.

_What else is he going to ask for? What else do I have to out of my way to do? I'm going to kill Albus._

"Will you stay?" Potter looked at his hands, embarrassed. Snape stared at him in disbelief, his feet frozen to the ground. Of everything he could have asked for, all he wanted was someone to sit by his bedside.

"I'm b—" Snape cut himself off with a fake cough. _Twice in a day now?_ "I mean, I'll be back in a moment." It was all he do could not to run full tilt for the door. Once outside he pressed his back against the wall, letting the surprise roll through him. The boy wanted Snape – _Snape_ of all people – to keep him company. Severus retrieved his book from the coffee table and wiped the emotion from his face as he walked back through the door, conjuring a chair at the boy's bedside and settling into it.

Potter smiled weakly at him; Snape gave a small smirk in response, before turning to his book. "If you get me sick, Potter, I swear. . ."

"Thank you, sir."

Snape's head snapped up at the boy's words. Had he just – no. He must have heard wrong. The son of James Potter would never thank him. Much less for something as small and worthless as his menacing presence.

Snape cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Of course, Mr. Potter."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Lux is Latin for light, and I used it for lighting and lamps and such. Lumos will be reserved solely for wandlight.


	6. Chapter 6

Glimpses – Chapter 6

When Harry awoke, it was dark. Completely dark. There were no windows, and he silently told himself to suck up his fear. He fought back a wave of panic at the blackness around him. Had the Dursleys thrown him back in the cupboard? Had the tall, dark man he had met, who had cared for him yesterday, sent him back? Was he too freaky for him?

He was hit with a shock of both terror and surprise when he felt warm blankets around him. He wasn't supposed to be here. He wasn't allowed to be in a bed. He wasn't allowed to be in the bedroom. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. The Dursleys were going to find him. Uncle Vernon was going to – no! Harry swallowed convulsively, throwing the blankets from around his thin figure as he grabbed his glasses from the small table next to the bed. He gravely observed that the chair from beside the bed was gone, only furthering his belief that he had been sent away.

He jumped out of bed, biting his cheek to hold back the cry at the feeling of the cold stone floor against his bare feet. Stone? Why –? Harry shook his head to cast off the thought. He had to get out of the room before the Dursleys found him. No, no, no.

Harry stumbled around the cold room, hands blindly held in front of him. He gripped the footboard of the bed with a steadying hand to regain his balance before walking as quickly as he dared toward what he assumed was the door. He hit the wall roughly and staggered backwards, before moving slightly to the right and making his way through the door. At least he didn't feel sick anymore.

The dark room was lit slightly by the dying fire. Harry looked around curiously. This was not his relatives' house. Where were the lovingly-placed pictures of Dudley on the mantle? Where was the huge family portrait of the Dursleys – minus Harry, of course – that was hung above the blue couch? The only couch in this room was a black one in the center of the room. Its faint glow in the light of the embers made Harry suspect it was made of leather. Although the cushions looked suspiciously lumpy. Harry kept away; he wasn't allowed near the couch at the Dursleys.

Harry turned and tip-toed out of the room, trying to find his rightful place in the dark quarters. There were no stairs in this home – where was his cupboard? He began opening doors as quietly as possible, peering inside. Finally he found one that appeared to be about the right size. It was a small square room, just large enough for him to curl up on the floor. Shelves lined the walls, all the way to the very top. The shelves were filled, packed with what appeared to be jars and boxes, but Harry couldn't see well enough to distinguish what the labels read. He removed his glasses and placed them on the floor before pulling his knees to his chest and resting his cheek against the cool floor. Relieved, he quickly passed into sleep, reassured that he wouldn't be bea – oh no. The blankets. They would be a mess. He would be discovered!

Harry jumped up off the floor, cracking his head against the underside of the lowest shelf. He clutched the top of his head, biting back the shout of pain and trying not to cry. If his relatives saw him cry…

He ran along the stone floor, retracing his steps. Once back in the black room, he felt his way over to the bed and yanked the blankets up to the top of the bed, smoothing them down as best as he could. Once he was convinced Uncle Vernon wouldn't be able to tell he had slept in the bed, he ran back to his 'cupboard,' rubbing his aching head. He shut the door firmly behind him, then settled back onto the floor, slipping into an oblivion plagued with reoccurring nightmares.

OoOoO

Snape woke early, sitting up on the black leather couch and stretching the kinks out of his back and neck. His living room couch would not have been his choice of bed, but it would have to do until the brat got his own room.

He stood quietly, leaving his cloak draped over the back of the couch as he walked over to the fire, where he worked to bring it back to life. Once he was assured it would survive and warm up his freezing quarters, he went to go check on the Potter brat.

The door to his bedroom was open, just as he had left it. However, as he waved his ebony wand to light the chambers, he was shocked to find the bed not at all how he had left it. It was empty. What? Snape acknowledged begrudgingly that the bed was impeccably made.

Snape stalked out of the bedroom, looking around the living room for the boy. The brat wasn't allowed to just run around freely without the rules and guidelines laid out. How dare he…

"Potter!" Snape's bellow rang through the quarters. He heard a loud bang and a muffled cry of pain before a door banged open and a streak of dark hair ran through the living room and into the kitchen. _What the bloody hell?_

"I'm sorry, Uncle! Really, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to sleep so late!" Potter cried as he ran around the kitchen, frantically trying to pull out pots and pans and place them on the stove. As he ran towards the fridge, he continued, "Do you want something extra special for breakfast this morning? I won't burn anything, I promise! Or I can do some extra chores? I'll wash the windows, weed the garden, anything! Just please don't use the belt!"

Snape stood frozen like a statue as he watched the boy scurry around. Before he knew it, eggs were sizzling on the stove. He ran his long pale fingers through his already-disheveled hair before making his way towards the boy.

"Potter." Softer this time. "What are you doing?"

"Making breakfast, sir! I really didn't mean to sleep late, Uncle Vernon!"

" _Potter. Look at me._ "

Harry turned and looked up, fear showing in his emerald eyes. Then he cocked his head in confusion. "You're not…"

"No, Mr. Potter. I am not your uncle, and it would do you well not to call me that. Now take that food off the stove. You are not a house elf, and it will therefore be _my_ job to make breakfast, not yours."

"House elf?" Potter asked in bewilderment, quickly removing the eggs from the stove.

"Slave," Snape amended quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Now would you care to explain why you left the bed last night?" A nagging voice in the back of his head told him he knew the answer.

"You knew?" the boy yelped in panic. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! No, no, please don't hurt me! I don't know how I got there!"

Snape knelt down and grabbed the boy by the shoulders. "Of course I knew you were there. I _put_ you there, you foolish child. Now as I'm assuming you weren't allowed to sleep in a bed at your relatives', would you please show me where you chose to sleep last night?" The last sentence came out in a growl.

Harry led the way sheepishly, utterly confused at the man's treatment of him, and showed him his little cupboard.

"You chose to sleep in my _ingredients cupboard?_ " Snape asked blankly, his eyebrows nearly disappearing into his mussed hair in shock. "Potter, where did you sleep at your relatives'?"

"The cupboard, sir. The cupboard under the stairs. You didn't have any stairs so I assumed. . ." He trailed off, staring intently at the stone floor.

"Potter." When the boy didn't look up, Snape softened his voice. " _Harry._ You never have to sleep in a cupboard here. You will sleep in a _bed,_ just like other boys your age. Look at me, Harry." He put his fingers under Potter's chin and tilted his head up. "I don't know what your aunt and uncle did to you over the past nine years, but I promise that I will _never_ treat you that way. Do you understand?"

When Harry nodded slightly in shock, Snape stood up again, closing the door to the cupboard and locking it firmly behind him.


	7. Chapter 7

Glimpses – Chapter 7

Over the next few days, Snape watched in bewilderment as the boy continued to run around, thoroughly terrified about everything. He cowered around Snape, hid under tables, and continuously ran toward that damned ingredients cupboard.

Today, though, Snape was working on the Wolfsbane Potion for the werewolf, and he really couldn't afford to be interrupted. And so as he walked into his personal lab, he locked the door behind him. He looked at the small store of potions and ingredients on the shelves around him. It was nothing compared to his ingredients cupboard, but it was handy and untouched. If there was one upside to having the Potter brat in particular as a ward, it was the fact that he did not touch anything in the house unless he was specifically told to, and even then he was hesitant.

As he added the Chizpurfle carapace and eventually the wolfsbane itself, Snape strained his ears to listen for clues as to what Potter was doing out in the rest of the quarters, but he heard nothing. Which really wasn't that strange, since the boy didn't really do anything at all.

Snape was shocked. Potter hadn't once asked for anything. He cared for himself fairly well, which Snape was eternally grateful for. He couldn't imagine having to help James Potter's child _bathe._ He might very well have been struck dead on the spot.

The potion was nearly stabilized when Snape heard the telltale sign of the brat's existence: a loud thump and a muffled cry of shock and pain. His annoyance overrode the small pang in his heart when he heard the boy shout. He was _not_ concerned about the boy's well-being. Not even a tiny bit.

Once he was sure the potion wouldn't blow up and send Lupin into a running, biting menace on the night of the full moon, Snape unlocked the door of his lab and crept outside. What had the boy done now?

To his surprise, Potter was nowhere to be seen. A pile of old books was strewn across the floor, and Snape looked up to where they had fallen from his large bookcase. Well, that explained the noise. With a quick flick of his wand, the books returned themselves to their rightful place on the shelf.

Now, where was Potter? Still slightly annoyed, Snape continued to stalk around the quarters, banging open doors and peering in corners. When he had searched the entirety of his quarters, he found himself standing outside one room. A room he thought he had locked the last time.

Snape listened quietly to the ragged breathing before opening the door to the ingredients cupboard. He was shocked to find the boy huddled in the far corner, underneath the lowest shelf.

"Mr. Potter. I thought I told you not to come in here. This is not your b—"

Snape was cut off by the boy's small voice. "I know it's not my house, sir. Tell me where you want me to go, and I'll stay there instead. I understand I'm not good enough for this room. My room at the Dursleys' was smaller. Just find me something like that and I'll be fine."

Smaller? Snape's head reeled with shock. Potter had been forced to live in a space _smaller_ than his ingredients stores? That was inhuman.

Snape cleared his voice quickly, recovering from his shock. "Mr. Potter, I was going to inform you that this is not your _bedroom,_ because it most certainly is your house. You are my" –he couldn't bring himself to say 'son'—"ward, and therefore, this is your home as well as mine. I am your" –he couldn't say the word 'father' – "guardian, and it is my job to take care of you. Now come out from that corner, young man."

Those were both the right and the wrong words to say. Potter looked up at him in shock and disbelief, which was a step forward from utter denial. Unfortunately, he also looked up quick enough to make his head crash against the shelf hard enough to send a few vials of moondew crashing to the stone floor.

"Don't touch it!" Snape snapped in panic as the boy leaned towards the shattered glass and silvery liquid splattered on the hard ground. Potter freaked out and jerked back again. Snape stuck his hand out and just kept the boy from cracking his head for a second time. Merlin, he was going to have to put some cushioning charms on those shelves if the boy kept running in here. "It'll burn you," he finished lamely as he reached forward with a sigh and scooped the boy into his arms. He was worryingly light.

After placing Potter on the living room couch and instructing him not to move, Snape summoned a pain draught and a healing potion from his stores, giving them both to the boy before beginning to make tea. He looked back to make sure the Potter brat had taken both potions and had stayed still as instructed. Surprisingly, he had.

When Snape returned, he placed one steaming cup of tea in front of Potter, keeping the other for himself.

"I can. . . I can drink it?" Potter stuttered hesitantly, not meeting the tall man's eyes.

Snape's anger flared. Were his meager cooking skills not good enough? He had always figured he was decent at making tea, seeing as it was essentially a much simpler way of brewing a potion. But he struggled to keep his voice level. "I haven't poisoned it," he snapped. "Of course you can drink it."

When the boy flinched, Snape realized his voice had come out a bit too harsh. He sighed, watching as the boy reached hesitantly for the teacup, his hands shaking. He brought it to his lips quickly in an effort to take a sip.

"Merlin, don't drink it so quickly!" Snape exclaimed, startling the boy again. Damn it. "It'll burn you. Wait for it to cool down." Potter set down the cup after his initial shock. "Haven't you ever had tea, Mr. Potter?"

"No, sir. I've only made it."

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. They had treated this child like a house elf, and he had never even been allowed to taste what he had prepared. He was going to murder Petunia and that fat oaf of a man she had married.

"Never mind that, Potter," he dismissed, then realized something. "Don't call me sir. I'm your guardian, not your teacher." _For now,_ he added in his mind.

"Si – Uhm, Mr. Snape" (Snape figured he didn't much like being called that either, but he let it be for the time being) "why am I on the couch? I don't want to –"

"What?" Snape snapped in anger. "Are you too good to even sit on my couch?"

"No, sir!" Potter exclaimed, too surprised to correct himself. "I only mean that I shouldn't be here. I'm not allowed to sit on the couch. . . ."

Snape regretted his outburst immediately. "Well, you are allowed to sit on the couch here. Now, would you mind explaining what happened earlier?"

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!" Panicked.

" _What_ are you apologizing for?" Exasperated.

"For moving the books! I don't know how it happened! One second they were on the shelf, the next they were under my feet!"

"Congratulations, Mr. Potter. You have learned the law of gravity," he retorted dryly. "Now, why were you reaching for books on shelves higher than you could reach? You could simply have asked?"

"You were working on something important!" Potter protested. "And they didn't fall – they sort of flew to catch me because I was falling."

Realization dawned on Snape's face. "Ah. I see. Accidental magic explains it, then."

"Accidental _what,_ sir? Magic doesn't exist." The boy's face was completely sincere.

Snape looked on in disbelief. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One of the prophecy he himself had overhead, didn't believe in magic? Well at least he could turn this one around in Albus's face. "You – you don't believe in – who told you that?" Snape stammered, his voice slightly breathless.

"My uncle. Whenever I'd do freaky things – like with the books – he'd yell that magic doesn't exist and he would –" Harry's voice faltered. He continued in barely above a whisper. "Then he'd do things to me."

Snape's breath caught in his throat. Surely he didn't mean? There was nothing that Muggle wouldn't do. "What did he do to you, Potter?"

"He'd, well, he'd take his belt off." Quietly.

Snape's heart skipped a beat. "And? What did he do then?"

"He would – hewouldhitmewithit," Potter mumbled quickly, his fear making the words mash together into a near incomprehensible mess. The boy looked around nervously, as if waiting for his uncle to jump out at any moment.

The Potions Master let out a half-strangled sigh of relief. "Is that all he would do? He wouldn't touch you in weird places? Make you feel uncomfortable?" At Potter's bewildered shake of the head, Snape relaxed a bit more, still livid but slightly less so. At least the oaf did have some boundaries.

Snape continued his questioning. "You said when you did 'freaky' things, he would hurt you. What kind of freaky stuff?"

Harry mumbled some more before articulating his words slightly better. "Loads of stuff. I grew my hair back overnight once because Aunt Petunia cut it all off. When Dudley and his friends were 'Harry hunting' I jumped and accidentally ended up on the school roof. I turned my teacher's hair blue one time. And a few weeks ago I accidentally made the glass at the zoo disappear. Dudley fell in the exhibit and the boa went free. Which was nice, seeing as the sign said it was bred in captivity."

That was nothing. Snape had done so much more accidental magic when he was younger, played around with it even, but this poor boy was _beaten_ for it. It reminded him a bit of his childhood, and that hurt.

"They would _beat_ you for doing those things?" Snape demanded. When Potter nodded, he continued. "And what do you expect me to do this time?"

Potter shook his head infinitesimally, staring transfixed at the dark rug. "Well?"

Snape stood to put his empty teacup in the sink but stopped when the boy flinched and curled into a ball, exposing his back but protecting his vital organs. "Potter," he gasped, his voice rough with shock and anger. "Do you expect me to _beat_ you?"

"Please, sir. I'm sorry and it won't happen again. Please just get it over with." Potter fell silent again.

"The hell it won't happen again!" Snape fumed, pacing back and forth now. When he saw Potter still lying on the couch and flinching with every step, Snape stopped and stepped toward the boy, extending a pale hand. At the gentle touch, Potter flinched even more. " _Harry._ "

Snape mentally steeled himself and pulled the shaking boy into his arms, leaning back into the couch and holding him tight. "Harry Potter." His voice was soft. "You foolish child. How could I ever hurt you for doing something you can't control?" He tightened his arms around the boy and rocked him gently back and forth. "I will never, _ever_ beat you, Harry, and I would _die_ before I would stand by and watch you be hurt, much less hurt you at my own hand."

The Potions Master was shocked when the boy began shaking more. _Damn it, that was supposed to be soothing!_ But then he heard the sob and was painfully aware of the tears now soaking his vest. He gently shushed the boy, holding him tight.

"You didn't deserve any of what you've gotten the past nine years, and I'm trying to teach you that. But I'll tell you what. You're stuck with me now, Harry Potter, and you're just going to have to deal with that, because I am never letting you go. I'm here to protect you, and don't you dare ever forget that. I will _never_ hurt you."

And as he waiting patiently for the sobs to subside, Snape mentally chided himself for being so sentimental, and wondered idly when he had grown to care for the boy.

But most of all, leaning on that leather couch with a ten-year-old who had been through way too much sobbing in his arms, he felt something he hadn't felt in a very long time. He felt human. And as much as Snape was loathe to admit it, he liked how that felt.


	8. Chapter 8

Glimpses – Chapter 8

Harry couldn't keep himself from jumping off the couch and onto the rug in front of the fire as Snape marched into the living room. He looked fearfully up at the dark man, reading his expression carefully. No one was to be trusted, not even people that were nice. Because they were sure to turn their back on Harry in the end.

He watched Snape's disgruntled expression with slight interest. The man's hair was unkempt and he was free from his usual billowing black robes; he was clad only in a white t-shirt and a pair of black pajama pants.

"Good morning, Potter." The man's low voice, gravelly and thick with sleep, reached Harry's ears. As he loped forward, graceful even in grogginess, Harry flinched further away from the couch, nearly landing himself in the rekindled fire. Snape stopped, watching him with careful eyes. "You're allowed on the couch, Potter. Even you won't ruin it."

Harry hesitantly watched Snape. The man sounded sincere, but the boy was unsure whether or not it was a trick. Uncle Vernon had once invited him – quite _warmly,_ in Harry's opinion – to sit on the couch and he, being young at the time, had graciously accepted. Unfortunately, his obedience had been rewarded with no less than a slap across the face and indefinite banishment to his cupboard.

However, as he watched the Potions Master's impatience grow steadily, he decided that the punishment for sitting on the couch would be much more bearable than the punishment for disobedience. He promptly jumped on the couch, sitting up straight and staring straight ahead at the fire, trying not to let Snape know that he was watching him out of the corner of his eye. He relaxed visibly when the man sighed and walked toward the kitchen, pinching his nose, as he was often apt to do.

As soon as the dark-haired man was around the corner and out of sight, Harry jumped off the couch. There was no use pushing the man's patience. Patience that had surely already been pushed by his freakiness this morning and the night before.

Harry thought back to the previous night's events. He really hadn't meant for the books to fall – or _fly,_ for that matter – but they had. They had flown right under his feet as he had tripped while reaching for one. And of course, being a stupid, clumsy freak, he had slipped on the neatly-stacked books, sending him hurtling to the ground and running to the cupboard for refuge. He had been so stupid. Making noise like that. Startling his – what was the word – _guardian_ from his work. Harry could tell it was important. Mr. Snape didn't often lock the door to his 'lab,' as he called it.

Mr. Snape confused Harry greatly. He had seemed so angry, but so nice at the same time. Why didn't he just hate Harry? That's what everyone else had done from the moment they met him. Harry shook his head, wincing at the flash of pain the violent movement caused. He reached a hand up and gently prodded the tender lump on the back of his skull.

"I'll get you something for that if you come over and eat," the man offered, scaring Harry out of his wits. His head snapped up to find the dark man leaning against the doorway, watching him with interest. Harry jumped up, making his way toward the table, which was laden with two plates – one with fluffy pancakes and the other with a more traditional English breakfast of eggs. As Harry passed, the man muttered, "I don't recall ever telling you to move off the couch, either." He disappeared as quickly as he had come, stalking back to the more hidden portion of the quarters as Harry settled in from of the pancakes. He jumped again when pale fingers set a vial of pink potion beside Harry's plate with a startling clink.

"T-t-thank you, s-sir," Harry stammered, reaching for the potion with a hand that shook nearly as much as his voice.

"Speak clearly, Potter!" Snape's voice was harsh, and Harry flinched visibly. Snape relaxed slightly at the sight of this, a slightly regretful look on his lined face.

"Thank you, sir," the boy repeated in a slightly louder tone. "What will it do?"

"It'll help with the pain and the swelling on your head," he returned impatiently. "Now take it before I force it down your throat."

Slightly surprised by the comment, Harry poured the liquid down his throat, spluttering and coughing at the taste. Snape smirked in response.

The two of them ate in silence, avoiding the other's curious glances.

oOoOo

"Mr. Potter!" Snape's voice rang through the quarters, and Harry jumped up from where he was examining the jars in the cupboard he had become so attached to. The labels must have been wrong – jokes, perhaps. They seemed to be total nonsense.

Snape's eyes narrowed when the boy hurtled into the living room. _Looking like a proper servant,_ Snape sneered to himself, struggling to control his anger toward the Dursleys that seemed to be growing day by day. He had a high suspicion that he knew exactly where the boy had been. He was going to have to lock that bloody door lest the boy decide to sleep in there again.

"Take a seat, Potter," Snape invited, waving a hand toward the leather armchair and couch situated in the center of the room. Potter jumped and obediently hopped on the couch. Snape walked over and took the armchair, studying the boy's face before continuing.

"Now as much as I _enjoy_ sleeping on this _ever-so-comfortable_ couch," he began dryly, "you cannot continue to sleep in my bedroom forever." Snape misinterpreted the boy's look of protest. He held up a hand, causing Potter to close his mouth once again. "Do not interrupt me. Now, as you need a bed of your own –" Shock and disbelief flickered across the ten-year-old's face. "—we will be going out shopping for accessories for your new bedroom tomorrow. Another room has been added on to my quarters – _far from my ingredients cupboard, I assure you_ – and it is in desperate need of decoration."

"But sir!" Harry's protesting voice cut across the older wizard's. "I don't need a bed! Really! I'll sleep on the couch, or even in the cupboard! You can have your bed back!"

Snape's pressed his lips together briefly in an attempt to control his temper. _Damn children._ "What did I say about interrupting me?" His voice was deadly. "Now, I do not wish to hear _anything at all_ along the lines of you staying in that cupboard during the time you are here. Have I made myself clear?" At Harry's fearful nod, he continued. "As I was saying before, a _bedroom_ has been added onto the quarters, and we will be traveling to London to pick up the necessary furnishings tomorrow. That being said, we need to talk about something quite important."

Harry tilted his head up nervously. "Sir?"

Snape rubbed his face unnecessarily before looking levelly at the boy sitting across from him. "Mr. Potter, surely you have seen some things in these quarters that you cannot explain. Excluding the books, for now, if you would."

Harry thought for a moment before realizing that he did, in fact, have some occurrences that had been nagging at his mind.

"Did you make up the names of the stuff in the cupboard?"

Snape blinked in astonishment. Well, that was. . . different. "No, I did not, Mr. Potter. Is that honestly the first thing you thought of when I asked if you had questions about any recent events?" Harry nodded in interest.

"So how did they get their names? And why didn't my relatives have any of them?"

"For Merlin's sake, Potter, they're potions ingredients! I don't know how they were named!" Snape burst out, exasperated. "Could you not think of more – applicable – questions?"

"Why did you say magic exists?"

That was more like it.

"Simply because it does. I'll explain more later. What else?"

"What's the stick you keep pulling out of your sleeve?"

"Stick?" Snape struggled not to let his surprise show. "You mean my wand?" He drew the ebony wand silently, rolling it between his fingers as he talked.

Potter flushed slightly, embarrassed. "Er, yeah. What does your wand do?"

"Magic," Snape answered promptly, then snorted with suppressed laughter. "Merlin, I'm helpful…"

"Who is this _bloody Merlin guy?_ " Harry shouted angrily, disappointed by the insufficient answers he was receiving from the man.

Snape was nearly relieved at the outburst. Finally Potter was acting like a normal child. "The greatest wizard of all time."

At Potter's disappointed look, Snape butt in again. "Alright, maybe I'll just take over from here. Potter, to put it as simply as I can, magic exists. I'm a wizard, both your parents were, and so are you."

"I'm a wizard?" Harry gasped, then promptly laughed in the man's face. "Are you kidding me?"

"I do not appreciate being laughed at, Mr. Potter." When the boy showed no sign of letting up his loud guffaws, Snape continued. "Clearly a demonstration is necessary." He idly considered setting the couch on fire, but decided against it. Better not to frighten the boy more than absolutely necessary. He waved his wand at the dark coffee table in front of them. It turned into a dog. When Potter straightened considerably, Snape turned the dog back to a coffee table again.

"How did you do that?" Potter demanded, eyeing Snape warily. "Can you hurt me with that?"

Snape jumped at the question, before deciding the truth was best. "Yes."

The boy flinched, shrinking back into the couch. " _Will_ you hurt me?" His voice was barely audible.

"No. I meant what I said last night." Snape's resolute answer rang through the room with authority. Potter didn't relax, clearly distrustful.

"Can _I_ do magic?"

"I thought we just covered that, Potter. You are a wizard, and therefore you are capable of performing magic. I assume you recall the incident with the books that you described last night? That was your magic, catching you when you fell. All the events that you have revealed to me over the past couple days? That was your magic, lashing out in your fear or anger."

Harry nodded in realization. "All of it?"

"All of it. Now, the particular part of London that we will be visiting tomorrow is called Diagon Alley. It is a place that is solely magical. No Muggles will be there."

"Muggles?" Harry inquired, thoroughly confused.

"Non-magical people, Potter. I would have thought that would be obvious," he sneered. "Anyway, I would ask that you do not lose control of yourself in excitement or anger or fear. Keep control of your emotions, Mr. Potter, and you will be fine."

"What do magical people do?"

"They go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a magical school. That is where we are now, merely in my quarters. I am the Potions Master here. At the age of eleven, all magical boys and girls in the country receive a letter from Hogwarts informing them of their abilities and inviting them to the school. I do not believe one will be issued to you, since you are staying with me. With that being said, while you are at school you are to call me Professor Snape."

"When am I –"

"You'll be attending next year, foolish child," Snape snapped. Harry shrunk back into the couch again. "Yes, well, there is one more guideline that must be laid out for now."

Harry, still pressed back against the cushions of the couch, peeked up at the man's face curiously. What was he going to ask? Oh, no, if he broke it would he be sent back to the Dursleys?

Snape watched the emotions flicker across the boy's face before stating his demand simply. It was for both of their safety, obviously. "You are never, ever, under any circumstances to touch my wand."

Harry relaxed again. Oh, that was easy. He nodded, and with that, Snape relaxed as well.

"So can I get my own wand?" Harry asked cheekily.

Snape gazed sternly at him. "No. You have no use of it yet." He refused to be undone by those puppy-dog eyes. The boy looked fairly ridiculous when he did it. Really.


	9. Chapter 9

Glimpses – Chapter 9

Snape's words had been weighing heavy on Harry's heart for hours now. He lay in the warm bed, staring at the dark ceiling above him. It was by no means the first time he was unable to sleep and his green eyes raked slowly over the well-studied black curtains hanging above him. He knew every crease, every fold, every inch of the stitchery. He could draw it from memory by now.

As much as he tried to forget his aunt and uncle, he could not. They had engrained their way of life in him from the moment he had arrived on their doorstep, and Harry knew it wasn't something he would be able to put behind him quickly. A quiet sigh escaped the boy. _It's not failure. I haven't failed,_ he struggled to reassure himself, trying to put the miserable thoughts behind him. _Yet._

Harry looked around again, before remembering there was no clock in the room. _How the hell am I supposed to tell the time?_ he thought to himself angrily, one of Uncle Vernon's choice swear words worming its way into his inner dialogue. He'd never be able to get up to make breakfast on time without a clock to wake him up. _Stupid freak,_ he chided, reminding himself that he was not expected to make breakfast at this new home.

Severus Snape was. . . different. Nice, even. He had never met an adult who treated him as such. His entire life he had known adults who either hated him or were entirely indifferent to him. But this was different. Snape gave him what he needed, things he couldn't possible have asked for. The only other person who had ever cared for him at all was Mrs. Meath, and Harry doubted he would ever see the kind woman again.

_It doesn't change who you are_ , Harry reminded himself miserably. _You're still a freak. A worthless, unwanted, little freak._ He climbed out of bed and quietly followed the well-worn path his mind had made through the quarters, finding himself outside the ingredients cupboard with a sigh. He knew why he came here. It was the only place he felt comfortable being in after all these years.

He inched inside hesitantly, imagining how angry the man would be if he found him in the cupboard once again. He would just have to deal with it, or move before the man found him. He was good at hiding.

Harry curled himself into a familiar fetal position as he let his nose become accustomed to the smells of the apparently accurately-named items on the shelves, drinking in the comfort that he received from the small space. His shoulders rested against the underside of the bottom shelf, and he thought vaguely that it felt suspiciously soft, but let it go as he felt himself drift off into oblivion.

oOoOo

Snape scrawled a note swiftly with his quill, its quiet scratching the only sound in the quarters. He left it on the table before popping his head into Potter's room. Reassured by the boy's even breathing, he grabbed a pinch of Floo powder and tossed it stiffly into his fireplace, whispering his destination and letting the green flames whisk him away. He held his breath, whether that was merely because of the soot he refused to inhale or something like apprehension for the upcoming encounter, he was unsure.

Coughing slightly, he righted himself with a quick charm to clean his robes, rising from where he had been rather unceremoniously dumped onto the floor in front of the fireplace at the Leaky Cauldron. The pub was empty but for a few lone wizards sitting miserably at the bar and Severus shivered. He so easily could have become that. So easily.

He loped casually through the pub and out the door, quite suddenly finding himself on the cold streets of Muggle London. Christmas would be coming soon, much to Snape's disappointment, but he cast off the thought. He was reveling in the fact that there were no dunderhead students to bother him at the moment. And mind you, there was no way Snape was leaving Potter in his quarter unattended. _Not that you're not doing that now._

He charmed his boots to repel the cold wetness of the snow and began marching down the street, scowling at the Muggles—several of them drunk—who dared to look at him in the dim glow of the streetlights. As soon as he found an alleyway dark enough, he Apparated, feeling the sickeningly familiar squeeze around him as his body was transported a short ways away to Surrey. He took a steadying breath once his feet hit the cool concrete before setting off walking again.

He stopped outside a small hotel. Merlin, it had been years since he had stayed in one of these. He suddenly found himself wondering if he had ever stayed in a Muggle hotel. As he walked inside, he figured the answer was a firm and resolute 'no.' He had most definitely never been graced with the disgustingly soft music and nauseating smell that bombarded him as he walked through the automatic doors. _Automatic doors?_ It seemed Muggles had magic of their own.

"May I help you?" The voice dripped with false pleasantries, and Snape did nothing to make his expression portray anything but the disgust that had wrinkled his face into an all-too-familiar sneer. What kind of question was that?

"I suppose you can," he replied frostily. "I need a place to stay for the night."

She smiled forcefully. "The room fees are as posted here," she ground out, handing him a crisp blue sheet of paper. He took it, politely pretending to glance over it before crumpling it up. "Are you able to afford –"

"I am bloody well able to afford it, thank you very much!" he snapped, eyeing her nametag. There was no last name, catching him slightly off-guard. "Miss. . . _Verity,_ I assure you I would not have set foot in this dreaded building had I been unable to cover the required fees. Now if you would kindly show me to my room, I need to be up early for a meeting and sleep is desirable at the present time."

At his icy and insulting tone, her face twisted into a look of distaste. Never had anyone used her name so. . . insultingly before. And he hadn't even said anything about it at all! She led him to his room, fuming silently before shutting it angrily. She stalked back up to the front desk and settled down, opening up a browser window on the internet and checking her favorite social media site to ascertain how many boys had liked her latest update. Not nearly enough. Not to her, anyway.

Snape sat broodingly on the hard mattress for a moment before pulling a vial of aquamarine liquid from the pocket of his cloak. Dreamless Sleep. He didn't get kind greetings from anyone – except Albus, of course – but he hadn't been expecting such from a girl in Muggle Surrey, a girl he had never met before, no doubt. He emptied the contents down his throat and reveled in the feeling of utter exhaustion as it overtook him, the angry lines smoothing from his face as he let himself be taken by sleep.

oOoOo

The next morning found Snape unusually rested, and he slid out of bed promptly at five, peering blearily around at his surroundings before slipping into the shower.

A mere hour later, he found himself sitting across from two Muggle men – Agents Edwards and Leatherby, as they referred to themselves. He tonelessly supplied that they could call him Snape, looking levelly across at Leatherby, who seemed to be in as unpleasant a mood as the Potions Master himself. The agent looked back at him, unflinching, the hazel eyes filled with years' worth of bitterness.

Snape moved his gaze to the agent's more pleasant counterpart, Edwards. The man's sandy hair and soft smile made him much more likeable, but the man's eyes made Snape tense up slightly before returning to his usual indifferent position in the chair. He had been convinced – only for a moment – the electric blue reminded him fleetingly of Dumbledore – but of course it wasn't him. On closer examination, there were too many differences for Snape to conclude that it was the Headmaster himself sitting across the cold table. The look of casual detachment on Edwards' face, and the questioning glint that appeared in his eyes was enough to convince Snape that Albus Dumbledore was in fact sleeping in his bed at Hogwarts. Snape shook his head infinitesimally before opening his mouth to speak.

"I was under the… impression… that you removed Harry Potter from the home of his relatives five days ago," he began quietly. Something hardened in Leatherby's face at the mention of the boy's name.

"Yes," came the harsh reply. "We did."

Snape turned his attention toward the bitter-looking black-haired man before him. "And, Mr. –what was it—Leatherby? It appears the boy's name strikes recognition with you. What did he do to you?" His question was simple and sincere. He was eager to find out more about the boy, find a reason to hate him, and this angry middle-aged man seemed more than capable of anger. To Snape's surprise, Leatherby jumped to his feet, anger surging through the room.

"What did he _do_ to me?! I don't know who you are, _Snape,_ or why you suddenly have an interest in this young man, but I can fully assure you that _Harry_ did _nothing_ to me!" Snape looked on with mild interest at the man's reaction. He was finding Leatherby strikingly similar to himself.

"My sudden interest in the _boy?_ " Snape sneered, now on his feet as well, face to face with the CPS agent. He felt the need to correct Leatherby because, from what he had seen, Potter was not a young man – far from it, in fact. Sure, the boy could care for himself, but there was much more than that to the boy's state of mind. "I'll have you know, Agent Leatherby, that I showed up at that Mu – at the local orphanage four days ago and _adopted_ the boy."

The man's eyes widened with slight shock before narrowing again and the man continued his tirade. "Clearly you were the wrong man for such a boy, because you have done nothing but suppose that he has done wrong! What have you been doing to him at your home? I reckon you're no better than his relatives, are you, _Snape?_ I could take him away from you quicker than you could blink."

A flash of cold fury swept through Snape at the agent's words. His sudden anger found him nearly speechless as he struggled not to pull his wand on the man. " _How dare you._ " Snape's icy voice cut across the small room. "How dare you _ever_ accuse me of laying a finger on the boy. He is but a child, and no child deserves what he has gone through. In fact," His voice lowered – not in anger but in distress – to the point that the two men across from him had to strain to hear it. "I came to hear your take on what you saw in the boy's home. I need to know."

Leatherby's face softened considerably at this confession, but his voice was still harsh. "If I ever hear of you doing anything to him, I will cut –"

"Leatherby!" Edwards' voice cut in dryly. "Let's try to keep this conversation legal. Death threats are far from friendly ways to greet the newly adoptive father of Mr. Potter. You should be happy the boy has found a home."

Snape just kept himself from flinching at the word 'father,' and casually ignored Leatherby's muttered 'not with that man,' feeling quite accomplished at the way he had reigned his anger in. He stared the agent down, bemused at the clear similarities between their personalities, before slipping in his own dry comment, his expression deadpan as usual. "Clearly the boy has affected you quite strongly."

At his tone – the friendliest Snape nearly ever got – Leatherby settled down into a straight-backed chair, keeping his calculating glance on the man. "Yes, well, the way he was treated caught my eye. He was so terrified. My reaction interests me, as well, actually, because I've been around cases such as these dozens of times, but I've never been quite so… concerned."

Snape nearly grimaced at the man's confession. Clearly Potter had done nothing wrong by him. "What did you see?" the Potions Master asked in a low voice.

"Not much, but it was enough." It was Edwards who spoke this time, and Snape gratefully shifted his attention from the challenging agent across from him. At Snape's prompting, the man continued, speaking for both Leatherby and himself. "We did not personally witness much of the abuse we are certain occurred in the household, but what we did see was enough for us to remove him from the home."

"What did you see?" Snape's voice asked vaguely. He considered taking back the question in fear of what he would hear but closed it quickly, prepared to hear Edwards out. Besides, Dursley wouldn't dare do something in front of two agents from Child Protective Services. It would be like begging for a prison sentence.

"He lived in a cupboard." Leatherby's voice was harsh, and Snape sighed.

"I've learned that much from the boy already," he supplied tonelessly, sounding much older than he appeared. He stared at his hands for a long moment before asking a sudden question. "How big was the cupboard?" At the agent's description, Snape found a small bit of understanding making its way into his mind. "That makes sense."

" _What_ makes sense?" Leatherby asked sharply.

"The boy constantly runs for my ingredients cupboard." _Shit._ At both agents' questioning looks, he scrambled frantically for an adequate explanation. "I'm a… pharmacist. I br – help create medicines and stock… pharmacies and hospitals." _Brew would not be the appropriate word here, Severus… I guess you are a pharmacist in some ways, if you turn your head and squint. And if you're a Muggle._ "I can't seem to find a way to keep him from running in there. I find him _sleeping_ in there on occasion."

A mixture of sadness and anger flashed across Leatherby's grizzled face. "Those bloody relatives," he growled, struggling to keep a hold of himself.

"Yes, Leatherby. Now was there anything else you witnessed? Besides him being forced to prepare breakfast for them and not eat any of it himself?"

"No, Snape. But I believe you and I both know he needs a physical examination to understand the full extent of what has happened to the boy."

Snape's mind flashed back to a vivid image of Potter exposing his backside on his leather couch and winced. "You have reason to believe—?"

"Yes, and I believe you do as well," the agent added seriously.

The Potions Master rose swiftly. "Very well," he allowed curtly, hesitantly extending his arm to shake hands with both members of CPS. He began to leave but Leatherby stopped him at the door, a firm hand coming to tightly grasp Snape's shoulder.

"Take care of him, Snape," the man muttered. Snape studied the man's eyes, the man who reminded him so much of himself.

"Very well." He swept from the room without a second glance and Apparated outside the gates of Hogwarts, slightly disappointed with the information he had received from the two men. He stalked through the corridors, suddenly finding himself outside the Headmaster's office. He whispered the password before walking up the stairs and banging on the door. The man deserved his privacy, at least.

"Albus!" Snape heard the sound of footsteps before the door opened, brilliant light hitting the Potions Master in the face. He blinked quickly to adjust his eyesight.

"Severus, is everything alright?" When Snape refused to answer, Dumbledore opened the door wider. "Come in, my boy, come in."

After Snape had taken a seat in a plush armchair and quietly refused a lemon drop, he revealed what he had unconsciously needed to ask.

"Albus, I need you to have Poppy here later today, tomorrow at the latest."

"Why?" At the man's silence, the Headmaster prompted, "Severus?"

"I need her to give Mr. Potter an… examination."

Dumbledore spoke sharply. "Why? What has happened?"

"I have sufficient reason to believe that the boy was… abused at his relatives' home, Albus."

Dumbledore's breath came out in a rush as he removed his half-moon shaped spectacles and buried his face in his hands. Snape watched uneasily as the man before him began to shake with silent sobs.

"Can he ever forgive me?"

Snape didn't have an answer to the Headmaster's broken question.


	10. Chapter 10

Glimpses – Chapter 10

It was another hour before Snape returned to his quarters, utterly exhausted and unable to really think about anything other than sleep. He was by no means a comforting man, but he had never seen Albus Dumbledore break down like that, and he had felt obligated to stay. And now he was trying to come to terms with the fact that Lily's son had been abused, and as much as he hated James Potter, whose son seemed to be him in the flesh, he would never wish abuse upon anyone, especially not a child. Especially not Lily's child. Especially when he had been victim to it himself in his childhood years.

Without checking on Potter, Snape stumbled to the couch and collapsed onto it, falling into much needed sleep as he Occluded his mind to stop his thoughts from spinning as they were.

oOoOo

_The man had glasses. Glasses just like his. Exactly like his. And his hair. It was too similar to be a coincidence. This man was his father. This was James Potter, who had been killed in a car accident, but he looked remarkably well-kept and handsome for a drunk. James smiled at him, lifting his wand to emit a puff of blue smoke. Then his face fell dramatically, his head snapping toward something behind Harry._

_Without warning, Harry was snatched up, being taken away, rushed upstairs. The woman placed him down on a bed in the corner of the room and began barricading the door. She came over and took Harry's face in her hands, looking at him, whispering words he couldn't make out. The world seemed to be drained of sound. It felt like a silent movie, the only ones his relatives had ever let him watch, but he was confused. Utterly confused._

_The woman had red hair and he realized with a shock that her eyes were exactly the same as his. This was his mother, Lily Potter. She was beautiful._

_But then green light came through the cracks in the door, and Lily turned back fearfully, a sob shaking her figure. She let go of Harry's face and spread her arms out, protecting him._

_Harry saw the lips move, saw the green light burst from the man's thin wand. And his mother collapsed. And the man drew closer to Harry._

_He looked up. The man had red eyes. His dark hair was lightly combed back. And then the wand was pointing at Harry's face, at his forehead. And he saw the pale, thin lips move again. But the dream didn't stop, like it always had before._

_He felt rather than saw the spell hit him, because the pain that burst through his body was immense. The ceiling collapsed, leaving him free to look up at the starry sky above Godric's Hollow. Sound exploded in his ears. He was screaming, screaming to the world, his own cries echoing in his ears. He could not move, could not do anything. Blood dripped from his forehead into his eyes._

_Agony. He was agony._

oOoOo

The scream that echoed through the quarters woke Snape with a start. He jumped to his feet, his wand already drawn. Who was here? Then his heart stopped. Potter. Was he hurt?

_Not that I care._

He hurried through the rooms, throwing open the door to his bedroom. There was no Potter. There was no one in the room. _Sweet Merlin, where is he?_

The door unconsciously snapped shut behind him as Snape left the bedroom, his near-panicked state causing his magic to lash out. He stood still as another shout reached his ears. He began frantically searching. There were so many things the boy could have gotten into, especially in his lab.

"The cupboard," he muttered suddenly, his mind realizing where the boy was with a start. He ran to his ingredients cupboard and knew he had found him even from outside the closed door. He opened the door and was startled by the sight of the boy writhing in his sleep, sweating and whimpering. He screamed again and twisted, his head colliding ungracefully with the bottom of the shelf.

_It's a good thing I placed Cushioning Charms on them, then._

Snape found himself at a loss for words. What was he supposed to do? His Slytherins had had nightmares plenty of times, but often they just needed the support of their friends and the presence of an adult. Snape had a feeling that Potter was going to need more than just his presence tonight.

He dropped to his knees. "Potter." The boy writhed again, his pain and terror evident on his strained face. " _Potter._ " The boy didn't respond.

_Not again._

With a resigned sigh, Snape reached out a tentative hand toward the boy. This could hurt or help, depending on what Potter was having nightmares about. He grasped the boy's shoulder firmly.

"Harry." He shook him gently. Potter's eyes snapped open and he flinched backwards with a cry of shock.

_Well then._

Snape stood up, brushing the dust off the knees of his black trousers. "You had a nightmare." The boy was still breathing rather raggedly, but he was looking up at him gratefully. Snape was turning to go when he felt something solid collide with him none-too-gently. He let out his breath in a whoosh. Potter – _James Potter's son_ – was hugging him, holding onto Severus Snape for comfort. Snape hesitantly reached an arm out and patted the boy on the back, feeling more awkward than he ever had in his life.

"Thank you, sir," the boy whispered into his robes, and Snape looked down at the boy in surprise. He was thanking him? For what?

"You are welcome, Mr. Potter. Now return to bed." When he saw Potter beginning to turn back to the floor of the cupboard, he added, " _Bedroom,_ not floor, Potter. We will be having a talk about you and this cupboard later."

Potter looked at him with a sheepish smile and ran past him, rushing into the bedroom.

Snape returned to the couch, settling down and letting himself drift back to sleep.

oOoOo

Harry awoke to the dim lighting of the bedroom around him. The day's earlier events rushed into his mind, and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He had hugged Snape. Surely the man wouldn't want him now. Not when Harry had rubbed his freakiness off on him.

He searched for his glasses blindly and shoved them on his face with a small huff of anger. He was so stupid.

He crept out of bed, surprised to find a small pair of slippers beside the bed that looked close to his size. He slipped them on delightedly to find that they fit. Then, with a deep scowl, Harry pulled them off and threw them back to the floor. He would be in trouble now for touching the man's belongings.

Harry's stomach growled loudly as he padded toward the door. He made a mental note to find some food before he was punished, and made his way quietly toward the kitchen. There was a bowl of fruit sitting on the table, and he grabbed an apple, rearranging the fruit to disguise the gap where the piece had been. He went back into the living room and settled into the armchair.

On closer examination of the lumpy-looking leather couch, Harry realized that Snape was sleeping on it, a pillow scrunched under his head and his socked feet hanging off the end of the couch into the cool air. A pale arm was thrown over his face, his head turned into the couch back.

Harry smiled lightly at the sleeping man's appearance. He was so much less defensive, so much more relaxed when he slept.

He shivered lightly. It was so _cold_ in the quarters. With a glance toward the fire, he realized that it had nearly gone out. He debated in his mind on whether or not he should stoke it. It had been his responsibility to care for the fire at his relatives', and he had more than a few scars on his arms and legs to show for it. Harry idly decided to let the fire be. The man had been angry when Harry tried to do the chores he was forced to do at the Dursleys, and he really didn't want to invoke the man's wrath, especially when Harry had already rubbed off his freakiness on him. Besides, Snape looked so peaceful at the moment.

Harry jumped up quietly and made his way toward the door. He rested his hand lightly on the knob. He really didn't deserve to live with Snape – the man was so nice to him. And besides, all Harry did was rub off his freakishness on Snape and the house. Yes, it was decided. He would leave, and let Snape have the life he wanted, the life he deserved.

Harry pulled open the door and walked out of the quarters, not letting the long stone corridors deter him.

oOoOo

Snape's eyes snapped open. It was the middle of the night and his wards had just alerted him of someone entering or exiting the quarters. Surely Potter wasn't so stupid as to leave, which meant – who was inside? He drew his wand quickly.

He pointed his wand at the fire, which rose rapidly, casting an orange glow around the living room. With another wave of his wand, the lights turned on and he stared around suspiciously.

" _Homenum revelio,_ " he whispered, and realized with a shock that he was the only one in the quarters. He looked up sharply to see the front door still open. _Ruddy idiot,_ he thought crossly before running to the door and looking both ways down the long corridor. He was not too far away.

"Potter! Come back here, you fool!" The boy stopped and turned, looking back at Snape apologetically.

"Sir?"

"Get. Back. Inside," he growled through his teeth, enunciating each word carefully in his harsh anger. When the boy didn't move, he snapped, "Now!"

At these words, Potter came hurrying back. He flinched past Snape through the open door and stood in the living room. Snape turned and stalked to the living room as well and began pacing in front of the lively fire.

"Mr. Potter, surely you are not so stupid as to accidentally wander from the quarters? By all means, explain yourself."

The brat squeaked nervously. Snape looked at him sternly. He was standing at the end of the couch, head hung low.

"Sit down." When the boy went to sit on the floor, he amended, "On the couch, idiot." A sheepish grin spread across the brat's face as he sat lightly on the couch. Snape gracefully seated himself at the armchair, studying the boy carefully. "Now, what happened?"

"Don't act like you don't know," the boy muttered, then flinched, as if expecting to be cuffed. Snape blinked at him, crossing his arms and fixing the boy with a firm glare. When Potter realized he wasn't going to get a response, he burst out, "I'm a freak!"

Snape stiffened, his face tightening and his eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?" His voice was dangerous.

"Stop it! Stop acting like you don't know! I'm a freak, nothing but a filthy, dirty freak! I can't stop doing _magic,_ " he spit, pausing to dwell on the words, then continued. "Why can't I just be normal? I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"What in Merlin's name are you sorry for?" Snape snapped, choosing to address the lesser of the two evils for the time being. He was going to have a good talk about how the boy considered himself, but for now, he wanted to hear what he had to say.

"I'm sorry for touching you! I'm sorry for hugging you!" Tears were streaming down his face at this point. "I know you don't want to touch me – I'm filthy. Just send me away. I'll go back to the orphanage, my relatives, even. I don't deserve this – any of it." Potter looked at his hands shamefully. Snape gave the boy a calculating glance, trying not to explode with anger. He took a couple deep breaths, eyes closed, face buried in his palm.

"Mr. Potter," he began, hardening his voice. "You consider yourself a freak?" The boy nodded, still gazing intently at his thin fingers. "May I ask why?"

"I'm a wizard, a bloody wizard! I do magic! People aren't supposed to do magic!" Snape raised a dark brow questioningly at the boy's exclamation. "Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia always told me magic didn't exist, that I was a freak because I was different – because I did _freaky things._ "

_Ah._

"Mr. Potter, am I a freak?"

Potter's head snapped up at the words, his thin face streaked with tears. "No, sir! No!" he protested quickly.

"But I am the same as you. . . I am a wizard as well, Mr. Potter. I perform magic more often than you." Snape waved his wand casually to emphasize his words, causing the lights to turn off and come back on again. Potter looked up in wonder.

"But. . . but. . ."

"But _what,_ Mr. Potter?"

"I. . . I'm – look at me!" he shouted, his anger growing again. "I'm stupid! I can't do anything right! I know you hate me for running to that damn cupboard all the time because I can't even remember that I'm not living with my relatives anymore!"

Snape's eyes flashed dangerously. "I expect you to watch your language in my presence, Potter. Now listen to me carefully. I am _not_ your uncle. I do _not_ hate you. And you are _not_ a freak. And if you think you are stupid, by all means continue proving yourself right by screaming falsehoods at me."

The boy gulped. "I'm sorry, sir."

"STOP BLOODY APOLOGIZING!" he bellowed. When the boy flinched back into the couch, he pinched his nose, bringing himself into control before continuing. "Now, Mr. Potter, you still haven't answered why you decided to suddenly go on a stroll around the castle at three in the morning." He gazed at Potter intently, before a sudden thought struck him. "Were you leaving?" Potter nodded, staring at the stone floor, and Snape felt his anger bubbling up again. He knew he wasn't the best guardian by any means, but he was trying his best. How dare the brat criticize him. "Why?"

"I thought you didn't want me." The words were quiet, the painful truth suddenly laid bare in front of both of them. "I'm just a nuisance."

_That you are._

Snape hitched a deep breath, putting both hands to his face and running them back through his dark hair. "Harry," he began, rolling the boy's first name off his tongue. "If I didn't want you, I wouldn't have picked you up at the orphanage. If I didn't want you, I wouldn't have sat on the Muggle underground for three bloody hours because you were sleeping. If I didn't want you, I wouldn't have stopped you from making breakfast for me that first morning. If I didn't want you, I wouldn't sleep on the couch while you sleep in my bed. If I didn't want you, I wouldn't have placed Cushioning Charms on the bottom shelves of my ingredients cupboard because you have an overwhelming tendency to hit your head on them." He raised a hand to stop the boy's question, moving forward to kneel in front of the couch and grasp the boy's face firmly between his hands, ignoring it when he flinched. "If I didn't want you, I wouldn't have spoon-fed you and then sat at your bedside when you were sick. If I didn't want you, I wouldn't have woken you up from your nightmare when you were screaming and crying in the middle of the night. Harry, if I didn't want you, I would have let you go. If I didn't want you, I wouldn't have gone running into the corridors, making you come back. Harry, trust me, if I didn't want you, you would know." The boy was crying again. _Merlin, what's wrong with me. I can't stop making him cry._ "Do you understand?"

Po – Harry – nodded, swallowing thickly. Snape suddenly felt bony arms thrown around his chest, a cold nose pressing into his neck. Harry was hugging him again. It was reassuring, hopeful. _Maybe I'm getting better at this guardian thing._ He reached out his arms – which were previously holding his face – and wrapped them gently around the boy, pulling him closer as he twisted and situated them on the cool leather of the couch.

"Harry. . ." In response to his name, the boy pulled his face from Snape's shoulder and looked into the man's face. "There's something I didn't tell you." Snape swallowed and prepared to move on, to force the words out, but he was interrupted.

"Yeah, what's a Cushioning Charm, sir?" Harry asked in confusion.

Snape blinked. That was different. "It's a spell to soften certain objects. Like corners, if a baby runs into them. Or shelves," He shot a pointed look at Harry, "when a certain child – _ahem_ – Harry Potter, hits his head repeatedly."

Harry giggled, leaning his head back against Snape's chest. The steady heartbeat and soft sounds of the man's breathing were reassuring.

"Harry," Snape began again, getting the boy's attention. "When I adopted you. . . I'm not. . . I'm not your guardian." Harry's head snapped up in surprise, his face starting to crumple. Snape looked at the boy, swallowing hard before continuing. "Well, I am, but I'm more than that." He took a deep breath. "Harry, according to the paperwork – according to everything, really – I'm your father, your _adopted_ father." There. He had said it. He steeled himself, preparing for the boy's reaction.

Harry took a deep breath. _Oh Merlin, more yelling._ Then another. And another, before finally he broke down. He buried his face in Snape's shirt, crying as he hugged him. _What kind of reaction is that? Is that good or bad?_ Snape thought in confusion as the boy sobbed into his chest, thoroughly soaking the cotton. He hesitantly continued hugging the boy, rubbing his back.

"Am I really bad at this, or what? I can't stop making you cry," he voiced, looking down in bewilderment at Harry, who gave a watery chuckle, wiping his eyes.

"You're absolutely brilliant at it." Then as an afterthought, "Dad."

If ever a man can feel punched in the stomach but feel absolutely great about it, Snape did. Breathlessly, he tugged the boy closer. "What do you say to some tea?" He hesitated for a moment. "Son?"


	11. Chapter 11

Glimpses – Chapter 11

Harry sat at the kitchen table the next morning, picking at his food quietly. Snape sat across from him, a strange newspaper called the 'Daily Prophet' open, obscuring his face from view. Harry studied the front page indifferently, before lurching forward in surprise. He could have sworn the picture had just moved.

Snape looked up over the top of the newspaper, casually observing the boy. "You don't eat nearly enough." He raised the paper back up over his face. "I expect you to finish your breakfast, not play with it until the house elves carry it away."

Harry looked up from his pancakes carefully, trying to discern the man's expression but unable to because of the thick morning edition.

"Sir?" Harry asked tentatively as he took a small bite of his breakfast. Snape sighed quietly. "Spells cause light, correct?" The man across the table lowered the paper slightly again, giving him a calculating stare before nodding. He kept his eyes on Harry as the boy continued. "What spells give off green light? Like unnatural, neon green?"

Snape's fingers clenched automatically, crumpling the paper slightly. He looked across the table, frozen, before folding the paper and placing it down on the dark wood. He took a bite of his eggs, stalling slightly.

"There's only _one_ spell that gives off green light." He took another bite and swallowed hard before continuing. "Why? Where did you see it?"

"My nightmare, sir," Harry responded quietly, interested.

"What nightmare?"

"The one about my parents, sir."

"Don't call me sir," Snape responded absently to hide his shock. He couldn't control the slight pang that ran through his chest. The boy had nightmares about the night his parents had been killed? "Is that what you were dreaming about the other night? The night I woke you up?"

Harry nodded, staring down at his plate. "What spell is it?"

Snape pushed himself out of his seat quickly, walking quickly toward the study. Harry repeated the question slightly louder, and Snape turned toward him, unable to keep the emotion from his face. "The Killing Curse," he supplied tonelessly, before turning and hurrying toward his lab. _I probably shouldn't have told him that, but what was I going to do? Lie?_

Harry sucked in a quick breath as he watched the man go. He suddenly felt as though he had lost his appetite. He pushed the half-eaten plate away from him in disgust, folding his arms on the table and resting his head there. _Good going, idiot. You chased him away._

oOoOo

Harry stood hesitantly in front of the towering wall of books in the living room. He peered close to one, then wrinkled his nose in distaste and moved to the next. What was all this nonsense? _Probably something magical._

"See something you like?" Snape inquired suddenly. Harry spun to see the man leaning against the open wall that led to the kitchen. He smirked. "Judging by your expression, I'm guessing no."

"I just don't know any of this stuff!" Harry protested, not wanting to sound picky. Snape walked closer, running one long, pale finger along the spines of the books as he drew closer. Every so often he would pause to peer at a title, then continue towards Harry. He suddenly pulled a thinner book from fairly high up before placing it in Harry's hands.

"Potions," the man informed quietly, grabbing a book of his own and moving to sit in the plush armchair by the fire. He propped his feet on the coffee table nonchalantly, opening the book and beginning to read. Harry settled down on the couch. "We'll be leaving soon, so I expect you to be ready." He didn't look up from the words on the page.

"Where are we going?" Harry opened his own book. The illustrations _moved._ He peered closely at the bubble gum-colored liquid bubbling merrily in a black cauldron. 'Pepper-Up Potion' was written in big letters across the top of the page, followed by a list of ingredients. Harry was sure he had seen some of them in the cupboard, and he moved on to the bottom, where a list of instructions was printed in black. He was fascinated, reading the description of the potion.

"The Hospital Wing," Snape muttered, still not tearing his eyes from the book. "Unfortunately, our shopping" –his nose wrinkled in distaste at the word—"adventure will have to be postponed because _you_ need a check-up."

Harry swallowed hard. "A check-up? The hospital wing? So there's going to be a . . . a doctor?"

Snape looked up sharply at the suppressed panic in the boy's voice. "A _healer,_ yes."

Harry turned back to his book, trying to focus on the words and pictures. He had never been to a doctor in his life. Who knew what they would do to him? He had always been forced to care for himself, but Harry knew better than to argue with Snape when he was determined about something and the man's tone of voice told him there would be no arguments.

When he peeked up, Snape was still looking at him. The man cleared his throat suddenly, averting his gaze and standing up, setting his book on the coffee table. "Ready?" Harry imitated the man, setting his book on the wood with a reluctant glance toward it. Snape noticed his expression. With a pleased look on his face, he added, "You can look through the book later as well, if you wish."

Harry, excited, looked up at the tall man. "Can we make one?"

"The correct term is _brew,_ " Snape corrected smoothly. "And perhaps."

He ushered Harry out the door, into the cold stone corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

oOoOo

Snape observed the boy carefully as they walked toward the Hospital Wing. He had shown shock, fear even, when he had heard they were going to see Poppy, and Snape wondered if there was another story behind the apprehension toward doctors.

The boy had been much more talkative recently, and had opened up a bit more. Snape believed Harry was beginning to believe the words he had been telling him for the past week, and that was most certainly a step in the right direction. He had gotten a glimpse into the boy's mind, and that was a big step forward. If there was one thing Snape was glad he was wrong about, it was this: Harry may have been the James Potter's son in appearance, but the two were nothing alike in personality. Snape couldn't be more relieved.

But there was still one problem: food. Harry had been violently sick a few days before, and Snape was beginning to grow more and more suspicious that it was not just the common flu. With the way the boy ate, there was a chance that it was a much bigger problem, and that had Snape all but running toward Poppy to confirm the fear that had plagued him over the last day or two. The boy was starving. But he had been so deprived of food that he was unable to really keep very much down.

Snape thought back to the previous night's conversation. It had certainly been unexpected. Snape had never imagined that he would kneel before a child and convince him that he was wanted. And as much as it had shocked the boy, the Potions Master reckoned it had shocked him more.

Before long, they were standing in front of the huge double doors that led to the hospital wing. Snape looked down at the boy, who gave him a frightened half-smile, moving to press against Snape's side so he was slightly hidden. Snape froze, surprised.

He forced himself to relax, putting one large hand on the boy's head, and pushed open the doors.

Madam Pomfrey came bustling around the corner. "Severus! I was expecting you! Where's the . . . Oh, hello!" She smiled warmly, extending a hand to invite the boy to come closer. "I'm Madam Pomfrey. I'm the healer here, Mr. Potter."

Snape felt Harry begin to move, and looked down as the boy crept around his leg and toward Poppy.

"Hello," he responded shyly, his voice low. "How do you know my name?"

"Severus here told me you were coming," she answered happily, moving toward one of the beds and preparing it, waving Harry over with her other hand. Harry followed slowly, taking Snape's arm and pulling the man with him. Snape let himself be taken to the bedside. "Alright. If you'll just have a seat on this bed. Lay down if you could."

Snape watched Harry obey. He pulled out his wand and conjured a chair, settling into it casually. Harry cast a nervous look towards him as Poppy drew nearer. The boy was nearly shaking in fear.

"Relax, Mr. Potter," Poppy declared, pulling out her wand. Harry flinched violently. Snape watched curiously, debated whether to step in or not. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Harry nodded obediently, but as soon as she stepped closer, he jumped backward far enough to nearly fall off the edge and into Snape's lap. Snape instinctively pulled his hands up to catch Harry, then relaxed slightly. He reached up and grasped Harry's shoulder firmly, hoping to be at least a little reassuring. Harry leaned back toward him, no longer shaking but more tense than ever before. Poppy moved closer and Harry flinched again.

Snape spoke up suddenly. "Poppy, don't. Let him be." He turned his attention toward Harry. "Would you rather her show you what she's going to do first?" Harry nodded sheepishly, flinching slightly when Snape stood. "Poppy, explain what you're going to do and demonstrate on me."

Poppy nodded, glancing between the two of them with interest, trying to hide her smile. "Very well. _Harry,_ I'm going to perform a simple diagnostic charm on you. It'll just tell me if you're healthy. Just like _this._ " She emphasized the last word with a wave of her wand and a pale blue light emerged from her wand, entering Snape's chest. "Are you ready?"

Harry gave a tentative glance toward Snape, who nodded firmly, indicating he was perfectly fine, before looking back toward Poppy and nodding fearfully. As Snape moved back to the chair, he felt his hand grabbed roughly, and it was all he could do not to wince as he felt the boy's fingernails dig painfully into his palm.

Poppy waved her wand, and Snape felt Harry tense as the magic passed over him. The tingling sensation that magic caused was most likely unfamiliar to the boy, and the Potions Master couldn't blame him for being uncomfortable.

Snape glanced upward from the boy's face to Poppy's. He froze, seeing the hardened, furious look on the Mediwitch's face. _Merlin, this can't be good news._ He studied her face carefully, but her Occlumency barriers were too strong.

She muttered, "Just a moment, Mr. Potter," before whipping around and hurrying toward her office. Snape threw a reassuring glance toward the boy and followed. Once they were inside, Snape closed the door, warding and silencing it as well.

He got right to the point, trying to ignore the unusual concern that had forced itself into his brain. "Well, Poppy? What do you know?"

She took a deep steadying breath before answering. "Severus, Albus made a huge mistake in sending the boy to his relatives, but you cannot blame him for this. He had no idea, and you need to keep that in mind."

"Do not tell me what to think," Snape snapped harshly, his anger taking over briefly. What was this woman hiding? "What did you find out about his home life?"

"He was abused, Severus."

"I knew that much. How bad?"

"Not as bad as it could have been, but beyond acceptable. He has injuries that have not been healed correctly, and they're going to have to be rehealed." She began ticking off a mental list. "Severus, he has several broken ribs. All but one have healed incorrectly, and need to be rebroken to keep them from affecting his growth. His wrist shows signs of being broken at one point as well; it also never healed properly. He had several broken fingers, which seem to be well enough, so I reckon I shouldn't bother with anything I don't need to. He can have them fixed when he gets older if he so wishes."

"Those aren't necessarily from his relatives. He could have fallen while playing his cousin, anything really. What else did you see?"

"From the way his relatives treated him, do you really think his cousin played with him kindly?" Her voice carried an icy edge. "Severus, it's not so much the abuse, it's the neglect. Even if he got those injuries running around and playing outside like a normal child, the bigger indicator is the fact that they never took him to the hospital."

"Perhaps he didn't want them to? I'm not justifying anything," he added quickly, nearly stepping back at the woman's fury, "but suppose they told him stories about the hospital. Regardless of the reliability of the stories, he could have refused medical treatment because of his fear. You saw the way he reacted to you. It would be the perfect excuse for them."

"Severus, I haven't even told you about the scars!" she nearly screeched. Snape rocked back on his heels, letting a low breath whistle through his teeth.

"The woman at the orphanage mentioned that. Just for a moment; I received no details. I haven't had a chance to see them for myself yet. I didn't know what that Muggle had done to him. Suppose he had. . ." He trailed off before finding his voice again. "I couldn't remove his shirt before I knew the extent of everything. Imagine if Dursley had done _that_ to him and Harry had woken to me undressing him! He would never trust me again!"

"His relatives never went quite that far, Severus. Thank Merlin for that. I know you wouldn't be able to keep off them if they had, and trust me when I say I would be right beside you the whole time." She took a deep, steadying breath. "However, from what I _can_ see, he was beaten. I don't know what with, and I don't know how severely, but he was beaten. Nine years of physical abuse is a lot to go through, Severus. Be careful with him."

Snape nodded curtly. _Did she assume. . . ?_ Although he was cruel and sarcastic, he would never go so far as to hurt a child. That was the worst and biggest form of cowardice.

"A belt. They beat him with a belt," Snape informed almost inaudibly, his emotions balancing uncertainly between uncontrollable anger and crippling sadness. He felt so bad for the boy, and to think he had originally been opposed to taking him in. _I had been all for taking him straight back to those damn Muggles. I'd be no better than them if I did that._ "And it's not so much the physical scars I'm worried about. It's the emotional scars, the mental ones. I know firsthand what it's like to not have someone to step in for you when things get bad, and I've done a lot of things I regret." He looked sharply toward Poppy, as if forgetting she had been standing there the whole time. "I never thought I'd say this, Poppy, but I'm glad I took him in. I don't know how long it'll take, but I'll make sure he gets what he deserves from now on. What he really deserves, not what those filthy Muggles think he does."

Poppy looked pleased with his responses and his confessions. She turned toward her store of potions, plucking a few colorful vials from the shelves. Snape observed carefully, recognizing many of them as potions he himself had brewed.

"Poppy?" he began tentatively. She nodded for him to continue. "Did you see anything else? About starvation, perhaps?" She froze at his words, but made no move to ask him to cease speaking. "He was violently sick a few days ago, the first day I brought him back here; I thought it was the flu, but he didn't have the right symptoms. I don't think he's gotten sick since, but he's really quiet and he hardly eats. I can't help but come to the conclusion that it's more than just a passing virus."

Poppy turned toward him. "Yes," she began, sounding incredibly sad. "I did notice that his body was severely malnourished, to the point of rejecting food. I didn't mean to let you know that part." She coughed awkwardly. "I was going to try to slip him a nourishment potion without you noticing." At Snape's furious look, she faltered, before dumping a small heap of potions on the man. "Now. If you could please go and administer these to Mr. Potter. He seems to trust you much more than he trusts me."

Snape turned to leave, still furious that she would try to keep something from him about the boy's condition. He unwarded and unsilenced the door, moving his hand to open it when she called his name. He turned back toward her, heaving a deep sigh.

"You'll do right by him, Severus. Albus made the right choice in making you his guardian."

Snape fled the room to hide his shock and embarrassment, ignoring her comment of 'Don't forget Christmas is coming!' He stalked over to the boy's bedside, smirking at Harry's suspicious look.

"We were merely discussing your health, child. Relax. You're going to be fine."

Harry's face visibly relaxed, then scrunched up again when he viewed the amount of potions Snape was holding in his hand. "Do I have to take all those?"

"If you want to live," the Potions Master joked lightly, not letting on to the serious note behind the words, before uncorking the first one. "Harry, this is a nourishment potion. Your relatives didn't feed you nearly enough, and it's gotten quite bad." He didn't want to say just how bad. "You'll be taking a dose of this each morning with breakfast, until Madam Pomfrey and I deem you healthy enough to go without it." He handed the boy the dark green potion and pressed his lips together in amusement at his facial expression.

" _Every_ morning?" Pleading.

" _Every morning,_ " Snape confirmed, uncorking another vial. "This one," he began, sniffing lightly at the deep blue liquid, "appears to be a Pain Draught." He directed his attention back to Harry. "Are you in pain?"

Harry bit his lip harshly, and Snape could see the indecision in his eyes. He finally nodded.

"Stop that," Snape chided, pulling the boy's lip from between his teeth. He handed Harry the potion, not all too surprised at the confession. "In the future, I expect you to come to me if you are sick or hurting. You are ten years old, much too young to be caring for yourself. I'm here to care for you, not just laze around and give you books to read. Understood?"

Harry nodded, downing the potion in one gulp. He shuddered delicately, waiting for the next explanation. Potions were fascinating. He had never been given medicine before coming to live with this tall, dark Potions Master, but he was sure the Muggles didn't have medicines like this, much less ones that worked so fast. He grinned delightedly as his pain vanished.

"What are you grinning about?" Snape questioned vaguely, observing and identifying the other potions carefully. He uncorked them one by one, handing them to Harry with a brief explanation. Although the boy complained lightly, there were no real protests or objections, which Snape was happy for.

"That's it, right?" Harry begged, unable to keep the pleading note out of his voice. Snape looked at him for a long moment before reaching into the pocket of his robes.

"Ah, ah, ah," he tutted, holding up the vial of pale blue liquid. "One more, but I want to talk to you about this one first."

Harry leaned in, giving the potion a long, hard look. "That's Dreamless Sleep, isn't it? Are you trying to put me to sleep? It's the middle of the day!"

Snape, impressed with the boy's identification of the potion, responded much less sharply than he normally would have. "Very good; it is Dreamless Sleep. Now, there was a reason that I waited to give this to you until after I talked to you. Harry, you were sometimes injured at your relatives' house, were you not?" When Harry nodded, looking at his hands, Snape continued. "It has come to Madam Pomfrey's attention that many of those injuries never properly healed, particularly some broken ribs. She needs to fix them, but in order to do so, it would be best for you to be asleep. Either way, I'm going to stay with you, but do you want to take it awake or asleep? If you choose not to take the Dreamless Sleep, I'm sure we could find something to make it hurt less."

"It would hurt?"

Snape nodded slowly. "Yes. It would."

"I'll take the potion," he whispered, reaching out a hand for it. Snape uncorked it carefully and placed it in the boy's waiting fingers. He gulped it down, grimacing only slightly at the taste.

As his eyes started to close, Harry darted out a hand and grasped the Potion Professor's tightly in his own. "You'll stay, right, Dad?"

Snape felt his heart clench at the boy's slurred endearment. He would never get used to Harry calling him that. He leaned forward carefully, placing his lips close to the boy's ear.

"Always. I wouldn't leave you for the world."

Harry grinned wearily, his eyes already closed, as Poppy swept around the corner. Snape squeezed the boy's hand lightly, backing up a bit as the child flinched slightly at the woman's presence.

"Relax, son. I'll be here the whole time." And Harry did.

Both boys missed the Mediwitch's warm smile at their quiet conversation. She bustled around the bed, sending a determined glance toward Snape, who settled backwards abruptly, hardening his face and clearing his emotion, as he was used to doing so many times before. This was going to be a hard night for the both of them.


	12. Chapter 12

Glimpses – Chapter 12

The next morning Harry awoke in pain. He wiggled a bit to test his limitations and immediately winced, settling back onto the bed. The white walls all around him told him immediately that he was in the hospital wing, because they were, of course, starkly contrastable with Snape's black bedroom, and Harry found himself sighing in disappointment. He didn't like this place one bit, and God knew how long he was going to have to stay there.

He went to stretch his stiff muscles but thought better of it, instead settling for looking around the wing with interest. His gaze landed on a blurry bedside table and he reached his hand out blindly. His pale fingers curled around the thin metal frame of his circular glasses, and he slipped them on, blinking in relief as everything around him came into focus – crystal clear.

Harry gazed around him, careful not to move enough to cause pain. On further examination of the bedside table, Harry found that there was a small collection of potions accompanied by a quick note written in a spidery hand.

_If I am asleep or away, take these potions upon your awakening._

_-S. Snape_

Harry picked up one of the potions, examining it with interest before setting it back down on the table. It looked suspiciously like that nutrient potion, and he still hadn't gotten the unpleasant taste out of his mouth. Something from the note caught Harry's eye again. _'If I am asleep…'_ Asleep? Would the man be sleeping nearby? Harry began searching the nearby beds, then let a small smile grace his face when his gaze finally rested on the dark Potions Master. The man had fallen asleep, not in a bed, but in the chair he had conjured beside the bed the day before.

He watched the man sleep, careful not to wake him, before turning back to the potions on the table. He downed the first one in his reach, letting his eyes explore the hospital wing a bit more in order to distract himself from the taste. He swallowed the second one quickly, moving slightly so he could see out the window better. There was a big grass field, with three hoops suspended in the air on either side. Confused, Harry turned back to the nasty-tasting potions. Surely they didn't all taste like this? Maybe they wouldn't be as fun to make – _brew_ – as he had planned. He continued to drink one potion after the other, wondering why there were so bloody many of them. He was fine – healthy – look at him!

"Well, at least we know you can follow directions," a rough voice drawled from behind him. Harry nearly jumped out of his skin and spun towards Snape, who was now awake and watching Harry carefully. Harry winced at the sudden movement, the pain shooting around his ribs and down his arm.

Snape jumped out of his chair gracefully, moving around the bed. He leaned over bedside table, picking up each potion briefly to inspect it before handing Harry the dark blue one he had also taken the day before.

"You should have taken the pain draught first, you foolish child," Snape chided gently. Harry felt his chin tipped upward and cool glass press to his lips and he opened his mouth, letting the liquid slide down his throat. He suppressed a shudder, bringing his head back down to its normal position and watching the Potions Master with interest. The man picked up the remainder of the potions and returned to his chair, setting them in a small pile on his lap. "Now let me help you with the rest of these, you little brat." From the friendly smirk on the man's face, Harry knew he wasn't serious. He happily obliged as his new father fed him each potion one by one.

"Ah, Severus, I thought I would find you here. And Harry. How very nice to see you again. I don't believe you remember me. I'm Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts." The old man's voice fell on their ears, and Snape fell back farther into his chair instinctively, almost embarrassed. "However, if you don't mind, I'd like to borrow Severus for a moment."

Snape stood in obedience to the Headmaster's wishes, beginning to walk toward the doors. He turned. "I'll be back soon, Harry, and I'll send a house elf to bring breakfast up in a few minutes. In the meantime, I expect you to rest. It's the only way to really get better, you foolish child." Harry watched him go, nervous at the idea of being left alone in the hospital wing with only Madam Pomfrey. He cast a nervous glance toward the woman's office as the double doors closed, taking a deep, calming breath.

Figuring the best thing to do was in reality to sleep, just as Snape had said, Harry lay his head back against the soft pillow, allowing himself to be pulled under by the vast quantity of potions he had just however unpleasantly consumed.

oOoOo

"Severus, my boy!" Albus began heartily. Snape eyed him distrustfully and as usual, refused the old man's offer of that disgusting Muggle candy.

"What do you want, Albus? The last few times I've been here, we've only exchanged unpleasant news. What is it?" Snape growled aggressively. He was eager to get back to Harry, even worried about him. The boy clearly wasn't comfortable in any kind of hospital setting, and he had just left Harry in the hospital wing with no one but the Mediwitch to keep him company. Harry had not hesitated to show his distrust of Poppy and her healing practices. Snape sighed, fighting back a small grin at the boy's antics.

"I want to know how everything is going with Harry." Stated obviously. Harshly. Distrustfully.

"It's going just fine, Headmaster," Snape bit out, his defenses naturally rising at the older man's tone of voice.

"So you say, but I can't help but wonder if Harry feels the same. If you are hurting the boy, I will have no choice but to remove him from your care. Not to mention it will affect other aspects of your life," Dumbledore warned, his threat visible even through his nonchalant attitude.

"I would never lay a hand on him, Albus. You know that!" Snape was indignant. How dare the man accuse him of hurting a child – Harry, no less!

"Abuse can be much more than physical, Severus," the man said sagely. "I couldn't help but overhear a bit of your conversation in the hospital wing. I cannot believe that you would call him a 'little brat' to his face! Merlin knows what damage you could be doing!"

"Headmaster," Snape growled. "The boy knows full well that I do not mean what I say when I tease him. Clearly Harry showed no adverse reaction to my _'little endearment.'_ "

"No, but Merlin knows what has been done in the past to the boy."

"You're leaving a lot of knowledge up to Merlin recently, old man. Maybe you ought to look into things a bit more. Harry didn't mind, and neither should you."

"Verbal abuse is the first step, Severus. Does he even have his own bedroom? Careful, or you'll turn into –"

Snape cut off the man sharply, furious. "If you haven't noticed, _Headmaster,_ we've been rather busy recently. I will not spoil this child. Must I remind you that this is James Potter's son?" _But there's more of Lily in that boy than I ever would have imagined._

"And Lily's."

"Do you think I am unaware of that fact, Headmaster? I have to look into _her_ eyes every day! That being said, I will never be able to be quite the loving, doting father James Potter would have been. However, I will never allow myself to be to him what my father was to me." Snape challenged Dumbledore with his glare. The man looked levelly back at him.

"Very well, Severus," Dumbledore conceded, searching Snape's lined face. "But I'll be keeping an eye on you and Harry."

Snape, too furious to reply, swept from the Headmaster's office in a billow of black robes. He stalked all the way to the hospital wing, where he found Harry sleeping, just as he had instructed. Snape smiled to himself. Who knew that James Potter's son would worm himself so much into his mind?

He called one of the house elves in a hushed tone and requested breakfast for both him and Harry. The elf returned in a flash and Snape woke the sleeping child, careful not to jostle him at all.

"Wuzzit?" Harry mumbled, blearily rubbing his eyes, and Snape fought back a grin. "Dad?"

At the term, Snape felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him again, perhaps much like one of the boy's fierce running hugs. The word had come so easily to the child, like it was natural. Surely Snape – the greasy dungeon bat, the most feared professor at Hogwarts – couldn't be loved. Certainly not by a Potter. _Especially_ not by a Potter. And yet that three-letter word kept coming back to him, hitting him in the chest like a ton of bricks, never ceasing to take his breath away.

Harry called him Dad. He had a son.

At the boy's confused look, Snape cleared his throat quickly, raising the tray. "I have breakfast for us both, if you'd like." Harry nodded enthusiastically. "Clearly you need some food in you, you scrawny little thing." Snape couldn't keep the chuckle from escaping his mouth. Harry smiled back widely, surprised to hear the man laugh.

Merlin, what was this child doing to him?


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angsty

Glimpses – Chapter 13

"Harry, I really don't think we should be heading to Diagon Alley today," Snape announced the next morning, studying the ten-year-old carefully. He looked slightly peaky from all the potions, and his red-rimmed eyes, slumped shoulders, and stumbling walk convinced Snape that he was far from ready to go out in public.

"Da-ad!" Harry protested, and Snape felt his heart skip a beat. He sucked in a quick breath. "But I want to go! I want to see the other magical people!"

Snape reached out to tousle the boy's hair. He paused abruptly when the boy flinched. It was a habit of Harry's – a habit that Snape was determined to break.

"Foolish child," he chided gently, moving his hand forward to card through the boy's hair. He crouched in the entrance to the kitchen, grabbing the boy's face and forcing him to meet Snape's eyes. "How long will it take you to realize that I do not mean to break the promise I made you." He pulled the boy into a gentle hug – Merlin knew he needed it – and whispered in his ear, "I will _never_ hit you, Harry."

Harry relaxed slightly in his grip and Snape picked him up, moving him and depositing him in a chair at the table.

"Now eat," Snape commanded, snapping his fingers and gesturing slightly to the food that appeared on the table at the sound. He took a seat himself. "You know you are not ready to go out qui– _take the potion first._ "

Harry sighed exaggeratedly before uncorking the vial and downing the disgusting liquid. Snape watched the boy carefully, suppressing amusement at his reaction.

"However, if you are feeling up to it, we may brew a potion today. If you like, that is." He was focused entirely on his food, acting as if he didn't care what the boy's reaction would be.

"Really?" At the boy's reply, Snape looked up, unsure how to take the quiet word. Harry's face betrayed a mixture of excitement and fear. He opened his mouth to pose a question. "You won't, you won't, burn me?"

Snape looked at him in shock. Those bloody Muggles. "Yes, really. And of course I will not burn you. I am here to help you, Harry, not to hurt you. But if you don't eat, we will never get around to it."

oOoOo

Harry ran out of the bedroom wildly, trying to find Snape in the quarters. Snape – his _father_ – had made him take a nap, but now he was refreshed and ready to brew the potion he had been promised.

"Dad?" At the lack of response, Harry called louder, "Snape!"

The man came hurriedly around the corner, his expression unreadable and his eyes fierce. He relaxed slightly when he saw the boy, who had just casually laid himself across the couch.

" _What_ is so urgent?" he asked, exasperated. Harry tried to hide his small trepidation at the man's half-anger. He knew immediately that he failed, because the man's face softened considerably. "What?"

"Can we. . . brew that potion now, sir?" Harry asked in slight embarrassment, studying the fine creases in the leather under his hand.

The man paused for a moment before answering. "Sir?" He half-smiled, but continued when Harry went to apologize, shaking his head slightly. "I suppose we can. Give me a moment." He turned back toward his lab, then paused. "And you really needn't shout."

Harry grinned apologetically, then sat back on the couch, waiting for the man to return. He jumped to his feet when Snape appeared again, and all but ran back to the potions lab in the back corner of the quarters.

He looked around in curiosity when they entered the lab. He had never been in this particular room in the quarters before. The walls were, like the rest of the home – and the castle, for that matter – made of stone, and Harry inspected several cabinets with interest, finding them full of little vials of colorful liquid and more of the strangely-named ingredients that were also housed in the cupboard. A table was backed up against the back wall. Harry figured it really wasn't a good place for it, seeing as one could be snuck up on very easily when in such a position. And if there was ever an accident or explosion – as Snape had explained occasionally happened – one would be unable to protect himself from the blast. Harry turned his attention back to the tall man standing behind him.

"What are we _brewing?_ " Harry asked with interest, deliberately removing his use of the word 'sir,' as he knew the man didn't like it. Snape nodded in slight approval of the boy's word choice.

"What would you like to brew, Mr. Harry? Pepper-Up Potion? I do believe you read about that one in the book you were reading the other day."

Harry nodded excitedly. "Yess—" he stuttered, trying to hide his slip.

He watched as the man began to pull things from the surrounding cupboards, pointing to each one in turn and explaining it. After a thorough explanation of everything used, they began to work, Snape lighting the burner beneath the black cauldron with a slight prod of his ebony wand. Harry watched the magic, fascinated.

"You teach Potions here?" Harry asked, looking down at the fangs he was attempting to grind. He felt the thin fingers of the man close over his own and guide his hand gently, aiding in the preparation of the ingredient.

"Yes, however unfortunately," Snape sneered, adding the fangs into the boiling potion. He quietly instructed Harry to begin shredding the mint leaves.

"Unfortunately?"

"They're all dunderheads, the whole lot of them," Snape murmured, and Harry giggled quietly at the man's words. He continued working with the leaves in front of him, paying more attention to his guardian than the work he was supposed to be doing. Snape leaned in again, helping him carefully, before turning to stir the potion once more.

"But I'm not a dunderhead, right?" Harry bit his lip worriedly.

"You're not a student here. Yet," Snape replied quickly, looking down his hooked nose at the boy who was currently standing on a small stool. "I hope you prove yourself differently."

Harry smiled to himself, handing the mint leaves over to be added. He would. He would prove himself to his guardian, his father, if it was the last thing he did.

The potion was nearly finished when Harry saw Snape straighten and cast a quick glance toward the door. After instructing Harry not to touch anything, he set the pepper he had been about to add on the table and swept out the door, an old man's voice carrying through the quarters, clearly distressed.

Harry's gaze flickered from the boiling cauldron to the pepper, then back again. Snape had instructed him not to touch anything, but he himself had been about to add the ingredient, so surely it wouldn't hurt if Harry did it instead.

He picked up the small bowl carefully, and upended it. He was pleased when the potion turned the pale shade of pink that had been depicted in the book. He turned to stir it, but forgot that he was still holding the bowl and it fell from his hand, shattering on the edge of the cauldron and falling into the potion.

Harry gasped and watched in horror as the potion began to glow and expand, smoking dangerously, before exploding in a burst of pink light. He listened to the sound of vials and jars smashing on the ground before his head collided with the stone floor, knocking his vision into blackness.

oOoOo

Snape's _lovely_ Floo conversation with the Headmaster was interrupted by a loud explosion and the sudden wafting of pink fumes down the hallway.

"Bloody idiot," he muttered as he ran toward his lab, leaving Dumbledore calling out his questions. Snape ignored him, cutting off the connection rather abruptly. "Potter!"

The boy was lying on the floor, glasses askew, mouth slack. He was covered in bright pink potion and blood dripped steadily from a cut somewhere on his head. But he was fine.

With a wave of his wand, Snape cleared up the pink potion and vibrant fumes. Another wave and the room was restored to order. Another wave and the blood was gone from the floor and Potter's head was healed.

Snape fumed in silence, staring at the boy on the ground. He lunged forward and grabbed the now-conscious boy by the arm, bending him over the lab table. In an instant, his belt was unbuckled and he yanked it off and into his hand. He raised it, ready to hit the small ten-year-old folded over the harsh wood. The boy wasn't even struggling; in fact, he curled further in on himself, exposing his back more. Snape could see the small, pointed bones of his spine protruding through Dudley Dursley's castoff t-shirt.

"Please, sir," Potter begged without hope. Snape knew immediately he had been in this position many times before, but in his consuming rage he couldn't find the will to care. He brought the belt down harshly.

Snape's eyes widened as his hand began its descent. He quickly redirected the trajectory of the belt in his hand. It hit the wooden table with a loud and resounding crack that resonated throughout the quarters. The boy flinched violently, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.

The entire scene seemed like a picture, neither the stunned man nor the terrified child moving. Then the moment was broken quickly as Snape jerked back nearly as violently as Potter had. _Holy fuck._

"Get up, Potter. Holy fuck, Potter, don't just sit there – get the fuck up!"

The boy hesitantly looked up toward him, shock and utter terror evident in his eyes. He began to move, pulling himself fully onto the lab table and huddling into the corner against the wall, furthest from the frozen Potions Master.

Snape turned and ran, through the door of the lab, through the door of the quarters that he locked and warded firmly behind him, through the doors of Hogwarts. He kept running until he was at the far end of the lake, looking out into the dark waters. He briefly considered throwing himself into them, letting them take him in, embrace him. He wondered with a dark curiosity what it would be like, how it would feel, to let the water close over his head, to sink to the bottom of the lake, nothing but the cold water around him, to feel his lungs burn as they begged for oxygen, to finally take a deep breath and feel the water rush into his chest, to feel his wretched body reject the water that both killed him and saved him. Saved him from this damned existence. Saved him from a world in which he had so nearly done the unthinkable. Saved him from a world in which he had nearly become his father, the one man he had promised never to be. Saved him from a world in which he had nearly broken his promise to the one child who meant anything to him anymore.

_I wonder how long it would take for a man to drown._

But he shook himself violently and forced himself to sit back on the cold shore of the lake, the icy water lapping at the tips of his boots.

He was a fool. He was a fool. How could he ever think of hurting a child? He had promised himself that never in his life, no matter how angry he got, would he ever harm a child. Ever raise his hand to one. And had that all gone out the window because a ten-year-old boy had messed up a potion? Had disobeyed instructions? Had caused an explosion? He had seen older students cause much worse accidents than that – with the same potion, mind you – but he had been so angry that he had removed his belt and nearly whipped the boy with it. Poppy didn't even necessarily have evidence that Dursley had done that! How dare he even come close to the boy after that. He would talk to Dumbledore. No man who raises his hand against a child should ever be allowed to live. He briefly considered his options. There was no other choice. Harry Potter deserved a much better guardian – a much better _father_ – than him. But it really did come down to a question: why was he so goddamn angry?

He had controlled himself. He had, in the end. Was it the child's terrified eyes? He couldn't stand letting the child down after so many reassuring whispers in the night. What happened to 'I will _never_ hit you'? He had mentioned it earlier that day, for fuck's sake! Where had that gone? He prided himself in his ability to keep his word, but clearly that had no basis anymore. He was lost, lost. He had promised to never be what his father was – to both himself and to Dumbledore – of course not to Potter, because the boy knew nothing about him, but nevertheless it was an unspoken, somewhat-understood promise – and yet he had become him. He had become Tobias Snape in that instant. He could feel his father's spirit, his father's anger, his father's abuse, settling right into him, and he couldn't do it, couldn't take it. He had been unable to defend himself. Maybe he was just like his father. Maybe there was no avoiding the pattern of abuse that tended to occur in families. But no, no, surely not. He had resisted it, resisted his father in the end. But that didn't change anything, not really. And there weren't really many other options for excuses. Could it be because Snape cared? Surely not. Not for the Potter boy. Yes, he cared about the boy's well-being, about the fact that he was generally safe, about the fact that he wasn't being abused, but clearly Snape himself was just as bad as the Dursleys.

But as he stared into the lake and decided he couldn't drown, couldn't die, if only just for the boy, just for Lily, he decided that maybe, just maybe, he did care.


	14. Chapter 14

Glimpses – Chapter 14

When Harry awoke, his nose immediately picked up on the heady scents in the room. He immediately recognized mint and pepper, but there was another stronger smell mixed in with the others. It reeked of danger, and Harry immediately wanted to stay as far away as possible.

The pain in his head was immense, and through the pounding in his brain he could feel a sticky wetness around his head. He wanted to move an arm to gingerly attest the extent of the damage, but his muscles didn't seem to want to respond.

He heard Snape's panicked voice echo through the quarters, and he noted with slight apprehension that there was an angry edge to it as well. Harry felt the tingle of magic pass over him – a sensation he was beginning to grow accustomed to – and suddenly the overwhelming fumes were gone. The sounds of jars and vials being sent back to their places filled his ears, and suddenly the pain in his head was gone, along with the stickiness beneath his head.

Before his sigh of relief could pass from his lips, he was yanked roughly from the floor without a word and bent over the table in the corner of the room. The rough wood dug into his stomach, and Harry struggled not to cry out. This was something he was familiar with. This was something he could understand.

He heard rather than saw the man's belt yanked into his hand, and he curled in on himself instinctively, a small move he had learned made a big difference at the Dursleys. His vital organs were protected while his back took the full brunt of the beating. He clutched the edge of the desk tighter with his knobby fingers, waiting for the inevitable blow. He had expected this, had seen it coming, but he had let his guard down. He had let the man's words soothe him, reassure him, all for nothing. This man was just as bad, if not worse than his relatives.

The belt whistled through the air, and Harry braced himself. But the blow never came. Instead, the belt hit the desk beside him with a startling crack, and he flinched more violently than he would have if he had been struck. A sharp pain cut across his face and he removed his teeth from his bottom lip, the familiar taste of blood filling his mouth. Snape hadn't hit him. His guardian – his father hadn't hit him. The overwhelming feelings that someone must truly care washed over him.

But neither of them moved. There was a long, still silence before the man's voice broke the tension like the crack of a whip.

"Get up, Potter. Holy fuck, Potter, don't just sit there – get the fuck up!" His voice was harsh, rough, icier than the boy had ever heard. Without another word, Snape turned and ran through the door, and Harry heard the door to the quarter snap shut with a bang. He pulled himself up from where he was folded across the wooden desktop, rubbing his midsection where it was sore from the hard edge of the table.

Harry huddled in the corner of the lab table, watching the door through which the man had disappeared mere moments before. The belt had fallen to the floor, where it lay rather harmlessly, curled slightly and resting on its thin side edge. He looked at it cautiously, pulling himself farther into the corner and trying to make himself as small as possible. It wouldn't be good to be here when Snape came back from wherever he had run off to. Probably to find a thicker belt.

He wasn't by any means comfortable, so with a nervous breath he slid off the wooden surface. His feet hit the floor lightly and he skirted around the leather belt lying on the stone, running out of the room like Snape had previously.

As he settled into the space beneath the bottom shelf of his cupboard, he sat in stunned silence. Snape had stopped. He had kept himself from hitting Harry, and that was the most the boy could say for any father figure in his life. He fingered the scars on his side lightly, running his fingers over the edges with distaste.

Snape had stopped. The belt had collided with the table and fallen to the floor, rather than hitting Harry. He had stopped. Through the anger of Harry messing up his potion, he had kept his word. He had stopped.

Harry sat marveling the fact that the man really cared. Cared enough to not hit him.

oOoOo

Snape stood carefully from where he had been sitting on the shore of the lake, dusting the sand and snow from his trousers with pale, shaking hands. He had made his decision. He would go up and talk to the boy before going to Dumbledore to inform the man that he could not care for Ha – _Potter._

His pace was brisk as he walked toward the castle, his stiff anger and distress turning his gait into more of a stalk. He pulled open the doors and descended the staircases to the dungeon.

Snape stood outside the door to his quarters silently for a moment before pushing the door open and standing in the entryway. The fire burning pleasantly in the living room did nothing to warm his icy mood. He stalked down the hallway to his lab, looking for the boy but finding him nowhere.

He prayed to every god he could think of that the boy hadn't run away again as he bent to pick up his belt, snaking it around his thin figure and fastening it tightly. He moved out of the door again and began to search the rooms for the small ten-year-old.

The door to the ingredients cupboard was open, throwing light onto the dark stones of the hallway. Snape crept toward it, looking through the doorway and nearly sighing in relief when he found the boy curled in on himself under the shelves.

_Look at the damage you did to him, you fool._

"Mr. Potter," he began gruffly, willing himself to revert back to the use of the boy's last name. "Please kindly come out from beneath the shelf and sit on the couch. I believe we have matters to speak of."

The boy looked up at him warily before crawling out from under the low-hanging shelf full of ingredients. He ran past Snape and into the living room, where Snape found him sitting obediently on the couch. _Oh, Merlin._

Snape cleared his throat, pacing back and forth in front of the fire. He couldn't sit down. Not now. Not when he had screwed up so much in so little a time. He cleared his throat again.

"Mr. Potter." There was a brief moment of silence as he thought about his words. "I trust you understand what happened an hour ago?" The boy nodded briefly, and Snape continued. "I understand if you don't want me – if you don't want me to care for you, to be your guardian – your father – anymore. I – I don't know what to do, but whatever case, that was completely inappropriate of me, and I had no place – and _no right_ – to ever come close to hitting you. I won't throw you out on the street; I will find someone to care for you properly, since clearly that person is not me. Do not worry, Mr. Potter, you will not have to live with me any longer."

There was a prolonged moment of tense silence. Potter had dropped his head between his knees. Snape watched the boy carefully before clearing his throat for a response. Potter looked up slowly, his eyes downcast, his cheeks red.

"Sir, I understand. I understand you don't want me. It was my fault, really."

Snape began to grow wildly impatient. " _I don't want you?_ I thought we went over that a few days ago. Are you a total idiot?"

Potter cowered into the couch, shaking his head rapidly. "No, sir. I only meant – I meant that I misbehaved, that it was my fault."

"I am aware of that."

"But thank you, sir." He spoke low, keeping his eyes on his thin hands.

Snape, who had paused in his anger, resumed his pacing with renewed vigor. "Thank you? _Thank you?!_ Don't you dare thank me, you fool! I nearly hurt you – I nearly hit you! Much worse than that – I nearly whipped you! With my belt! And you're thanking me? Because I stopped myself? Because I managed to redirect the belt to hit the bench instead of your back? I assure you when I was bringing that belt down my original intention was, in fact, to hit you." The man's voice broke on the last few words.

"But you didn't."

"But I could have! I was going to! Don't you dare justify this!" Snape shouted, slumping down into the armchair and burying his face in his hands. He suddenly felt two small, cold hands grip his sallow cheeks, and he looked up into a pair of vivid green eyes. Snape was too upset to even arch an eyebrow at the unfamiliar gesture.

"Sir, Snape, _Dad._ You didn't hit me, and that's what matters to me. You're the only one who's ever stopped, and that means something to me. Obviously we're not perfect, so who's to judge us because we aren't?" He climbed up into the man's lap and curled up there. Snape wrapped his arms hesitantly around the young boy. "So thank you. You're the nicest man I've ever met. So if you don't mind, can I keep you as my dad?"

Nice? Snape's mind reeled at the boy's words, unconsciously pulling him closer as he sat in overwhelmed silence. The boy didn't care. He didn't care at all. Pot – Harry still wanted him, and was even reassuring him. Through everything Snape had done, everything he had screwed up, the boy was forgiving and _thankful._ He was thankful because Snape had been the only one who had ever stopped. It was a perfectly viable reason, and for the moment, he tried to take it at face value, tried not to analyze what it meant, because he really didn't want to ruin such a moment with the negative thoughts of the boy's childhood.

The boy had said words much wiser than expected of a boy who was only ten years old, and Snape felt them hit him hard. Harry wanted him to continue to be his father. He forgave him, thanked him even.

Snape felt his mind spin and his breath rushing out. He thought he might pass out any second, so he choked out his response through barely-contained sobs. "I don't mind, Harry. Not at all." He hugged the boy closer. This child would never stop changing his life as he knew it.

When he felt he had recovered his voice, Snape sat back, slightly loosening his grip on the small child cradled in his arms. He let his arms fall to his sides to allow the boy space to move if he wished to, but Harry turned into his robes and hugged him closer. With an exaggerated sigh, Snape wrapped his arms around him again, fighting to keep the smile off his face.

"Can I tell you a story?"

Harry met his eyes and Snape didn't have to use Legilimancy to read the boy's excitement at the prospect of being told a story. It was likely he had never been told a good one in his life. Not that this one was good.

The boy nodded happily. "What's it about, Dad?"

"You'll see," came the mysterious reply, and Snape cleared his throat quietly before beginning to speak again. "Not too many years ago, there was a poor boy. He grew up in a small house in the less fortunate area of Spinner's End" – Harry nodded in vigorous understanding at this point and Snape fought back a scowl – "with his parents. Although his mother was kind and had had enough money to provide for the family, the father was a monster, unfit to even be called a man, and he had wasted everything on things like alcohol much before the boy was born. By the time the boy born, the father's anger problems had revealed themselves to their full extent, and he was always angry, always yelling, and always hitting his wife and son. He went through much of what you went through, actually." Harry winced slightly.

"The boy grew up unhappily, terrified of his father and without friends. But one day at the park, he watched two young girls play and became fascinated with the younger one. She had brilliant red hair and the greenest eyes you could ever imagine. She was beautiful and kind and passionate, but her sister was the opposite, always mean and angry and jealous. The boy hated her, but he made quick friends with the red-haired girl.

"Seeing as both the boy and the girl were magical, they received their Hogwarts letters when they were eleven, and went off to school together. Now something you must understand, Harry, is that there are four houses at Hogwarts: Gryffindor for the brave of heart, Ravenclaw for the quick-witted intelligence and booksmarts, Hufflepuff for the loyal, and Slytherin for the cunning. Most of the houses get along fairly well together, with one exception. Gryffindor and Slytherin are enemies, and do not get along in any way.

"Now, back to the story. On the train to Hogwarts – yes, there is a train – this girl and boy met another small group of first years – three young boys who were soon to be joined by a fourth. They made fun of the boy for how he looked and because he wanted to be in Slytherin. Each of the boys in the group were to be Gryffindors." Snape couldn't hide his scowl. "They were disrespectful and insulting to him, but the way they treated the girl was a different story. They were polite and kind, inviting her to join them over the boy, but she refused, staying incredibly loyal to her friend.

"Now when it was time to be sorted, the boy was sent to Slytherin and the girl, along with the group of boys on the train – they called themselves the Marauders – to Gryffindor. However, despite the animosity – er, dislike, Harry – between the two houses, the two children remained friends. They trusted each other and cared for each other and over time, the boy fell in love with the girl. However, one of the Marauders also fell in love with the girl, and pursued her throughout all their years at Hogwarts. The Marauders were cruel to the boy; they bullied him, and the girl stood up for him every time. But during their fifth year at Hogwarts, the boy became angry in response to the teasing he had received, and called the girl a bad name. She became angry as well, and their friendship dissolved, but the boy still loved her.

"The boy, fueled by anger and pain by his loss, turned to the wrong things for comfort, and made bad choices, causing his life to spin wildly and dangerously out of his control. The girl, on the other hand, went on to marry the Marauder who had fallen in love with her as well. They had a son. But through it all, the boy still loved her.

"During this time there was an evil man who had risen to power and when her son was just over a year old, one of the couple's closest friends betrayed them. The evil man came to their home on the night of Halloween and killed them. However, the baby, their son, survived, and the evil man was not seen again. But through it all, the boy still loved her, and to this day, he loves her still."

Harry's eyes were wide by the time Snape finished, and the Potions Master looked into them, into emerald eyes, into Lily's eyes.

"Was that a true story?"

"It was," Snape confirmed quietly.

"Did you know the people in it?" the boy asked excitedly.

 _Did I know them?_ Snape thought sarcastically. _I was them._

"I suppose I do."

"How?"

Snape sighed but pulled Harry closer to his chest. "So many questions, you curious child. I know them, Harry, because I am – or was, for that matter – that little boy. The girl was your mother. And the Marauder, as I'm sure you may have figured out, was your father."

"You… knew… my parents?" Harry asked slowly.

"Yes, I did. I grew up with them."

"My dad was mean to you?" His voice was uncertain, as if the boy was trying to come to terms with what he had just heard.

"That he was," Snape replied lowly.

Suddenly he found himself hugged tightly by the boy again. "You didn't deserve that! You're the nicest man I've ever met!" Harry pulled back slightly. "Wait, so my parents didn't die in a car crash? And my dad wasn't a drunk?"

Snape was shocked. Was this what Petunia had been telling the boy about his parents all these years? His voice was hard when he replied. "No, they most certainly did not. And as for your father's drinking habits, I am unaware of exactly what went on in the home, but I can assure you that James Potter was not a drunk. But I can tell you one thing: Petunia was just as much of a bitch back then as she is now." Harry looked at him, shocked, before clamping one hand over the older wizard's mouth. "Harry?"

The boy giggled in response to the muffled, confused question. "You said a bad word, Daddy!"

Snape's heart stopped. What had Harry just called him? "Daddy?"

"Yeah, _Daddy,_ you said a bad word! You've been bad!"

"I suppose I have." Snape sighed. "I'm sorry, son. Do you forgive me?" Harry giggled again in response to Snape's bewildered apology, nodding happily.

Snape sat back, hugging the child tightly to his chest. He couldn't help but think about the rather dire turn his thoughts had taken mere hours before, and couldn't believe that he would ever think to give up the child, much less end his own life. Because if there was one thing he knew for certain, it was that he wouldn't give up Harry Potter – his son – for the world.


End file.
